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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795934">Ripple Effect</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonzoThatch/pseuds/BonzoThatch'>BonzoThatch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Childhood Trauma, F/M, First Love, Loss of Parent(s), Parent Death, Regret</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:14:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,557</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795934</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonzoThatch/pseuds/BonzoThatch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Milo and Kida work together to recover the past of Atlantis but come to realize that they must confront aspects of their own pasts to truly move forward.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kida Nedakh/Milo Thatch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound of precious metal clangs about as Atlanteans fill one of their submarines with artifacts and treasures. Milo admires his crew as they stand beside him while an Atlantean man behind the camera implores them to smile for a photo. The last piece of historical record anyone would have of this place’s existence. Of his friends. A historical record that only they will know exists. </p><p>Milo swallows with strained effort, attempting to relieve the knot in his chest. Less than five days ago he was boarding a submarine for the expedition to find Atlantis. Whitmore, the man who funded it, waved on in jubilation. A bittersweetness twinkled in the old man's eye as he wished Milo well on his journey. </p><p>The day before the expedition was less pleasant. It started promising enough, at least by Milo’s estimation. He was rehearsing his presentation. A presentation that meant to persuade Mr. Harcourt and his colleagues to fund an archeological expedition in Iceland. Milo had been working at the Smithsonian for four years. He was a linguist, cartographer, and archaeologist by trade. Items that came in from Mr. Fenton Q. Harcourt's intake program were analyzed by him for sectors within the anthropology department. Time and time again Milo proved his skill surprising even the most experienced of his supervisors. </p><p>Despite Milo's proven skills and accuracy involving his work, he was not respected. In truth, it was as though he was never employed for his bachelor's and master's degrees, contrary to Mr. Harcourt's claims. And instead of an office, he was banished to the boiler room. Rarely called upon unless a colleague was out sick or a pipe was malfunctioning. He was nothing more than the occasional plumber on most days. </p><p>A reputation had followed him. This reputation was not from his actions, not initially at least, but his grandfather's. Thaddeus Thatch.</p><p>Thaddeus worked for the Smithsonian too. It was he who instilled into Milo the curiosities history had to unveil. To better understand the complexities of this life through past ones. And as a young lad, instead of reading Coral Island or Wonderland, Milo read of Henry Churchill and Maria Lathbury. And, boy, how he read. He was vigorous, hungry. His yearning for new material was never satiated. Although he read little of children's fantasies the hard literature he consumed had the same effect. His mind flew to far off lands as he learned about the seven wonders of the world. Of manuscripts and tomes lost to time. And the idea of a place called Atlantis. </p><p>His grandfather was reluctant about the subject of Atlantis. Something about it brought a shade of sadness in his eyes. But with each passing year in his youth, Milo grew more and more convinced of this place. The essence of it started to manifest itself into something tangible. He could smell and taste the saltwater in the air. He could see their impressive ships, far superior to anything that existed past or present. He could envision it all as brilliant and clear as the summer sun. </p><p>Each night Milo asked his grandfather about Atlantis and each night Thaddeus divulged something new. Not only did Thaddeus detail what he knew of the place, but he did so with a fervor Milo had not seen in him prior. Books, writings, stone tablets. Thaddeus and he would spend hours at night talking about it until the candle's flame fizzled away. He spoke with such zest and zeal it was as though his grandfather had gone to Neverland and back. All these details linked to something bigger and grander than Milo could ever imagine. He had to find it. He had to find Atlantis.</p><p>One day during their regular summer outing in the woods, Milo asked his grandfather if they could find it. Poor Thaddeus, in spite of his passion, smiled faintly. For although he worked at the Smithsonian, it was a dream he had long since left behind… </p><p>Despite Thaddeus' reservations and dim exterior, that passion still burned bright in his eyes. And that passion Milo beheld illuminated him as well. It fueled him. Forged him into the man he is today. Atlantis wasn’t some far fetched fantasy. The pieces to find it were all there. Like the summers he spent searching for arrowheads and gemstones, all he had to do was connect the dots. Find an artifact that would solidify a basis for funding an expedition. And then, upon an excavation in Norway, one he had largely funded from his savings, such an artifact came to light. A Norse shield. And that shield lead to another artifact: an illuminated manuscript. The key. The Shepherd's Journal. </p><p>For two years Milo researched. Striving to find the location of this journal which he believed to be in Iceland based on his translations of the Norse shield. His superiors thought it was a fool’s chase. Other linguistic experts believed the journal if it even existed, would be in Ireland. They did not endorse him. So again, Milo funded his research. Taking pay cuts if it meant it would bring him one step closer to the journal. And each time all evidence pointed to its location being in Iceland. There was no longer a need to second-guess, to delay. He had been wrong before, much to the chagrin of his colleagues, but this time he knew it. He knew he was right.</p><p>After months of inquiry, Milo somehow convinced Harcourt and his other supervisors to a meeting. So there he was in the boiler room rehearsing his proposal. Even without the promise of a meeting he planned this presentation. If not for them, for someone else. Milo had a letter of resignation in case they declined his proposal. He'd quit the Smithsonian if he had to. Go to whoever would fund him. But fortune was on his side this time. He had gained his coveted audience. The pieces were in place. The path was clear. This was not only his moment but his late grandfather’s. This was their time to shine. </p><p>And in the blink of an eye, it was gone. </p><p>Discarded on the ground. Soaked head to toe from a puddle he had stumbled into as Mr. Harcourt mocked him. The dream he held since childhood. Since his grandfather recounted tales of this fantastic place. It was disintegrating. Like flecks of sand beating away at an Assyrian relief. Wearing down the chiseled grooves that made the etched details so vibrant and alive. </p><p>Time and time again Milo braced himself against the wall, attempting to keep his vision alive. To keep the relief pure. Yet with each passing year, his dream was becoming harder to preserve. Still, he persisted. He asked with increased zeal. Begged Mr. Harcourt and his colleagues to merely look at his proposal. To hear him out. He would take a year’s pay cut to fund the expedition if necessary. If it meant finding the Shepherd's Journal, he would do it. </p><p>But that day in front of the Smithsonian. The day Milo chased his colleagues down the hall. The day Harcourt told him to quit. To not end up ridiculed and disgraced like his grandfather. It was the first day a crack appeared. The first day he saw a piece of his dream fall apart. The first day his resolve crumbled.  </p><p>Milo felt himself giving in. Minute by minute the sky dimmed as petrichor filled the air. He was sinking, submitting that maybe, he should count his blessings.</p><p>Other scholars indeed envied his position at the Smithsonian. Even if they were to be relegated to the boiler room like he was. To be in such a prestigious place, it's a lifelong goal for many. But not for Milo. It was supposed to be a stepping stone to something larger. Something far more profound. Even if it was lofty. A far fetched fantasy, it was all too real to him. Crystal clear. This institution was the leverage he needed to reach up. To grace that potential with his fingertips. To extend himself as much as he could, so that he could one day grasp it. One day prove that his grandfather wasn’t a crackpot. Bring back something that would make sense of this world. </p><p>As the foundation crumbled around Milo. As he began to give in to the inevitable reality that was. As he was pummeled into submission, Whitmore extended his hand. He offered him the opportunity he had been seeking. To find Atlantis. Even so, he didn't have the key to unlock that door. The Shepherd's Journal. Regardless, Milo knew to not look a gift horse in the mouth. He was eager; elated. This was his chance. And then, Whitmore gave him a wrapped object. Milo knew not what it was, but he proceeded to open it with the curiosity any scientist would have about the unknown. As he removed the string and began to undo the paper, he felt his breath leave him. Before him was an ancient book bound in leather. The facade was covered in a gold relief with an Atlantean letter resembling an eye. Gleaming back into his own in the rippling lights of the aquarium. The Shepherd's Journal…</p><p>He strained not to faint from shock as Whitmore rambled on about the bet he and Milo's grandfather had. How he'd fund anything and everything Milo needed to proceed. </p><p>This chance - it's all he'd ever wanted in his entire life. But even the clearest of goals leave a dark shadow. Idealism and enthusiasm blinded him from the dangers that stood beside him in support. Rourke, Helga, and even the crew he was now surrounded by with love and tenderness in his heart. Mercenaries; out for gold, no matter the cost. But now…</p><p>A bright light blinds Milo bringing him back to reality.  </p><p>“Is that it?” Kida looks on with interest at the camera.</p><p>“Oh -” Milo stammers, looking around until he sees her. “Heh, no we have to develop the film first.”</p><p>“Oh yes! I remember now, you must take the film and - process it. And we cannot do that here, can we?”</p><p>“Nope,” he shrugs with a tinge of sadness. “Wish we could, but we can’t. If we open the camera now with all this light before processing the film, it would be damaged beyond repair.” </p><p>The scent of tobacco slithers through the air. It mingles in with the brackish atmosphere Milo and his crew had grown accustomed to. “Speaking of 'damaged beyond repair’, are you sure these Crystals are gonna’ keep us from dying, hun?” Mrs. Packard snorts before them. Her demeanor is as unabashed as ever.</p><p>“Yes,” Kida responds with confidence. “You may not be Atlantean, but so long as at least one of you wears the crystal on your way to the surface, the Leviathan will not harm you. The spirits of our forefathers see all and will protect you on your journey.”</p><p>Ms. Packard takes a long drag of her cigarette before toddling off with her usual apathy. “Yay…”</p><p>“Shame you won’t have any photos to remember us by, Milo,” Sweet’s sultry voice interjects. Melancholy lingers in it. “We’re all gonna’ miss you.” </p><p>“Yea,” Milo responds as he clears his throat. “I’m going to miss you guys too…” An awkward silence fills the air as an Atlantean loads the last artifact onto the ship. “Well,” Milo gazes on at the vessel and his crew. His friends. “I guess - you guys will be heading off then?”</p><p>“Yah,” Vinny drolls on with a furrowed brow, stroking his mustache. “I guess we should be heading off…” He kicks a pebble on the ground. “We had a pretty long day though with - you know - all the conspiracy, taking out Rourke, then apologizing for the original conspiracy before conspiring to take out Rourke.” Vinny turns back at the vessel then to Kida. “With all the generosity you’ve shown us - I mean, I feel like there’s more we could do to help or something. After - you know, a nap.” </p><p>“Oui oui,” Mole pips. “Je suis d'accord avec Vinny.”</p><p>“Sure ‘nough!” Cookie cries out. “I ain’t one who normally needs a break n’ all that. But looking at poor Packard over here? I done think she might need a bit of sleep after seein’ ‘ol Rourke transmogrified into a crystal demon ‘n shattered to a billion pieces with that Zeplin fallin' n' explodin' 'fore that darn volcano exploded itself.” He pats her on the back as she takes another drag. “Ain’t that right?"</p><p>“Whatever...” Mrs. Packard sighs. </p><p>“‘Sides, ya’ll ain’t ever had none of my cookin’! Considerin’ it all, treatin’ ya’ll to a hospitable meal’s the least I could do.” </p><p>Kida laughs glimpsing at Milo then back to the crew. “I guess you are right, Cookie. Maybe it would do some good if Packard and the rest of you were to stay a night or two before your journey home. Besides, none of you have truly been able to witness Atlantean culture or festivities. It would be a pleasure for you to bear witness.” </p><p>A sense of jubilation fills the air. “Well, there was no set time on how long this expedition would take so by all accounts - I say we’ll take you up on that offer!” Sweet declares with enthusiasm.</p><p>“Super; je suis tellement excité!” Mole exclaims hopping about causing particles of dirt and ash to billow into the air. “Activities! Are there any digging activities?”</p><p>“In terms of games?" Kida responds, a bit confused by Mole's thick French accent. "No." As much as she doesn't understand him, his exuberance for dirt reminds her of a child’s. She cannot help herself as a smile glides up her face. “But we do grow roots and fruits to eat which require extensive knowledge of agriculture. I’m sure some of the farmers would appreciate your assistance.” She pats him on the head in a patronizing yet well-intentioned manner. Mole claps and runs past her. “J'ai hâte de creuser!” </p><p>Audrey picks up her bag and walks towards Kida as the others follow. “While I’m here I can help fix up that fish - machine, thing. It’s the least I can do since I wrecked it.” </p><p>“A simple mistake as Milo can tell you from his first attempt.” </p><p>“Haha,” Milo chuckles sheepishly. “Yea.” </p><p>“Do you have a library?" Sweet beams radiantly. “I would love to read any medical books you may have, miss!” </p><p>"Our biblioteca was lost during the submersion I'm afraid," Kida remarks with remorse. "That being said, our doctors are well versed in medicinal care," she asserts pridefully. "Dristi can take you to them. They would be more than happy to can show you their concoctions made since Atlantis' submersion. I’m sure you will find some of our herb and fungal medications intriguing.”</p><p>“Speaking of herbs n’ what not, I’m a thinkin’ I’d like to talk to someahyer cooks about them there seasons used on those ginormous crawdads. Sure ‘nough tasted good, but I’m reckonin’ some pig lard mixed in would make a dang fine gumbo!”</p><p>“Well!” Kida looks at Cookie who's holding a metal bucket with a thick pale-yellow content. Milo can tell it's the pig lard from the smell alone. Its oily contents ooze down Cookie’s hands, causing the canister to gradually descend from his grip. “I’m - sure our cooks would enjoy your input…”</p><p>"I'll make my way to the cooks then!" Cookie exclaims and walks off with a swagger. </p><p>Vinny saunters past them with his bag in hand almost unnoticed until Milo turns to face him and calls out. “Where are you headed to, Vinny?” </p><p>“Ahma gonna’ go find Mole and help him dig, or plant some roots, or somethin'. See if my hands still know how to be a florist.” </p><p>“Vinny," Kida interrupts his monologue. "You are a - what you would say, ‘demolition man’, no?” </p><p>“Why, yes," he responds with interest. "I am.”</p><p>“You make things go ‘boom’?”</p><p>“Oh yes. Little boom. Big boom. Any kind of boom. But if want me to blow up somethin’ I used all my dynamite on the bridge. And considering that -" he scratches his head embarrassed. "I should help you build another one. ‘Cept every bridge I’ve made down here was me blowing up a pillar so -”</p><p>“Vinny, there are many structures within Atlantis my people and I have not been able to access for centuries. Your help would be most valuable in our attempts to access them once more.”</p><p>“Sure, I’d love to, but I have no more dynamite, or nitroglycerin, or…. Not even a road flare." Vinny digs into his pockets haphazardly, taking out the contents to inspect them. "I do have a couple of fireworks and some cherry bombs.”</p><p>“But if you had the materials to make such explosives, you could?”</p><p>“Ya’. If you had the right stuff I could maybe, I dunno’, make some trinitrotoluene or some trichloramine or some nitrocellulose or some -”</p><p>“Perfect!” Kida turns around, calling out to a man. “Nirvok! Take Vinny to the chemists at once. See if they have any materials with which he can work with.”</p><p>The man responds in Atlantean before bowing and leading Vinny away. </p><p>Milo turns to face Mrs. Packard who’s reclined against a boulder. “What about you, Ms. Packard? Is there anything you’re um, wanting to do, or do you need to rest?” </p><p>She takes a drag from her cigarette and exhales, turning to talk to Kida. “Do you guys have any saunas around here?”</p><p>“Sauna?” Kida asks Milo. </p><p>“Oh, she means - umm, a place where you soak in hot water uh -” He snaps his fingers in an attempt to find an Atlantien equivalent of the word. “Kaukidi lacus!”</p><p>“Ah!” Kida exclaims. “Yes, we do. They are positioned alongside the communal bathhouses.” </p><p>Mrs. Packard picks up her bag and trudges past them. “Great,” she responds with her typical apathetic candor. </p><p>Milo sniffs his shirt as she passes. “Speaking of bathhouses, I could use a bath myself. I think all of us could. Umm -” he sheepishly probes. “Do you have any facilities that are, you know, more private?” </p><p>“A private bath? Alone?”</p><p>“Yea, I mean -” Milo bluffs an air of confidence while he gestures with his hand. “If you don’t, that’s, -ahem- I’m fine - with taking a bath with everyone else.” He glides his hand through his hair as nervous laughter spills from him. “It’s just, I haven’t - bathed with other people since my camping trip with my grandpa back when I was eight. Was afraid I’d get snatched by a bear,” he chuckles.</p><p>“Oh, almost all families bathe together in the bathhouses. Some do bathe in pools of water such as the one you and I swam in. But we prefer to use those areas for collecting drinking water as the filtration is purer.”</p><p>“Oh," he acknowledges a tad disappointed. "Well, that’s ok then.” </p><p>“Royal servants have their bathhouses located near the royal courtyard. And I do have a private bath if that would be more favorable.”</p><p>“Oh! No no no, I don’t want to, intrude umm - in your space.” </p><p>“It is no intrusion, Milo.” Kida giggles. “I am offering as you are clearly timid to be seen nude in the presence of others. I will even dismiss the royal staff if you so wish as you bathe.” </p><p>Milo straightens his posture, trying to appear as poised as possible. His face turns red hot despite his best efforts. “No, no. I’m not nervous at all! Heh… It’s just, I’m a bit rusty is all. Where I’m from baths are a - secluded activity. But, i-if that’s the custom down here I’ll be, more than happy to do what the Atlantians do.” He claps his hands together, rubbing them feverishly. “As they say in Rome, ‘do as the Romans do,’ you know?”</p><p>“No, Milo,” Kida responds in sincere innocence. “I know nothing of Roman matters and have not seen any such person since our society’s collapse.” </p><p>Milo sighs. “Right. So umm - I guess, I’ll… Get ready for a bath and then -”</p><p>“It is not yet noon, Milo.” Kida gestures to the sky. “And there’s something I would like to show you.”</p><p>“Oh - sure! You know, I’m up for whatever it is uh - you’d like me to see. If it’s swimming then that’ll clean me off some,” he chuffs. </p><p>“Swimming is not required,” Kida responds looking up at a distance. “You are fortunate to be a good climber.” </p><p>“Climbing?” He wipes his nose then grins. “Well, if my third place rope climbing at the county fair amounts to anything...” He cracks his knuckles. “What are we climbing?” </p><p>Kida points off to one of the highest mountains in the distance.</p><p>“Oh! Oh… Uh-heh-heh -” Milo chuckles weakly. “So these crystals, do they umm - you know, protect from a-” he squints then gulps, “ah-hwa-hweight-eight-hundred foot drop?”</p><p>“Come on!” Kida charges with enthusiasm, grabbing Milo's hand and guiding him along. </p><p>“Ok, Kida, umm - you can, tell me on the way up,” he titters nervously as they ascend the steps and vanish into an undergrowth.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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    <b>-◬-</b>
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</div>“Milo, you’re moving about as though you are a young one learning to walk!”<p>“W-well, it is a bit slippery” Milo stutters, fumbling to maintain a firm grip upon some vines.</p><p>“You protest too much," Kida chuckles, ascending the stairs with grace. It's as though an eight-hundred-foot drop is not but a misstep away. “I can only imagine how you shall fare upon our descent once we retrieve the forsaken manuscripts."</p><p>”Y-yea, about that,” he gulps, using his shoulder to push up his glasses. “Why are they up here?”</p><p>"According to my father, there were two prestigious scholars, such as yourself, who kept records of Atlantean history. They ensured the integrity of our written texts along with their pupils. At one point in our history, we had a rich biblioteca. Thousands and thousands of volumes that went back to the time of Socrates. While these scholars were often relegated to writing down the works of others, they had their own stories to tell. Inventions. Ideas they wanted to explore. Aktiniv would often claim that Nidolis was copying his personal works, so he started a new study atop one of our highest peaks. A place in which the elderly Nidolis could not reach him. Upon Atlants’ collapse, the biblioteca was lost, yet his sanctuary remained untouched. Protected by the Heart of Atlantis…”</p><p>“D-did you say books from Socrates? That’s… Over two-thousand years ago!” </p><p>“Indeed.” </p><p>Milo continues to gawp in astonishment as he follows her up the spiral staircase. While his use of the vines has been effective leverage, he can no longer see as clearly as he could at the lower altitudes. His glasses are foggy. He wraps his hand around a vine for extra support and takes off his spectacles, wiping them upon his shirt. He works steadily despite his nerves, careful not to drop them. </p><p>Kida peers behind her shoulder. "Is there something wrong?" </p><p>"N-no, I had to clean my glasses is all." Milo puts them back on and pauses before commencing the ascent. He had just cleaned them and already they are starting to fog up again. “It’s really humid. Although I shouldn't be surprised considering the altitude and this all being located in a cave, more or less.” </p><p>“You are correct, Milo. It can be quite humid here. But you say this with concern in your voice. Why?”</p><p>“Well, if the scholar kept his books up here and it’s this humid, and some of them are - two-thousand years old, I don’t think there's any left." </p><p>A range of emotions flashes across her face. Shock, sadness, and denial. “Surely there must be some that are intact," she responds with bitterness on her tongue. "It does no harm to investigate.”</p><p>“Yea, you’re right,” Milo submits apologetically. These books are vital to not only Kida but her people. A hope to reclaim their history and knowledge. “I’m sure there’s gotta’ be a few intact books up there. Maybe some were locked away, or - or, preserved somehow." </p><p>Kida continues her ascent, seemingly unaware that Milo's lost in deep thought. While he can't truly empathize with her situation, he knows what it's like to have a dream crushed by someone. If it weren't for Whitmore, for his crew doing the right thing and standing up to Rourke, his dream would have been lost. He grips the vine with fervor and thrusts himself forward with a newfound motivation.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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    <b>-◬-</b>
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</div>A reptile-like creature skitters about the worn grooves and cracks of stone. It stops at a deep crevice to lap up dew and eat insects rambling through the mossy overgrowth. It splays out, soaking in the light from the crystal floating above. Without warning the warm radiance fades as a shadow descends. It shuffles away with haste as a foot plants itself firmly onto the stone below.<p>“This should be it.” Kida asserts looking straight ahead at the door before her. She walks to it and proceeds to inspect a large lock as Milo trembles up the last step breathlessly. “Oh -” he exhales sharply gripping his thighs with his hands, attempting to not fall over. “Thank goodness...”</p><p>“Now all we must do is open this latch somehow.” </p><p>“Well,” Milo points upward with one hand, still catching his breath. “You’re in luck because you happen to be looking at a semi-professional locksmith.”</p><p>“You can unfasten this?” </p><p>“Oh, you know it.” He winks cheekily. “Just - let me catch my breath; whew…”</p><p>“Hmm..." Kida inspects the lock with haste. “How long might this take?”</p><p>“Not too long. If it’s an Atlantean lock I’m going to presume it's like Cretan locks. Just more advanced?”</p><p>Kida shrugs. “I would not know. I am not a locksmith.”</p><p>“Oh, right,” Milo responds bashful. He opens up his satchel and digs around. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Kida peers at him trying to gain a better view although she is reluctant to leave the lock to do so. </p><p>“I’m looking for…. Aha!”</p><p>“Is that a vimukpri?”</p><p>“Yes! In English we call them ‘screwdrivers’, but it’s the same thing.”</p><p>“And that misshapen needle you’re holding?”</p><p>“Oh, this? This is a paperclip!”</p><p>“Paperclip..." She parrots. "And what are you going to do with those?”</p><p>“For me to pick this lock, any lock really, I need something to adjust the lock’s pins, the parts that keep the lock - well - locked. I also need a device to apply torque to the lock plug so the pins aren’t pushed back down by springs after they're correctly set at the shear line. Provided this lock has any of those components. Either way, the paperclip’s the pick and the screwdriver’s the tension wrench! Er - the thing I’ll use to apply torque to the pens.”</p><p>Kida continues observing him with utter confusion on her face. Milo titters with apprehension. “I, uh - guess I should get to it then, heh.” He walks over and inspects the lock. It’s indeed ancient, but its condition is surprisingly good despite the humidity and rust. </p><p>“This is amazing,” Milo utters in awe. He inspects the lock, turning it around and around, admiring all the details. </p><p>“What is?”  </p><p>“This lock! Its structure, it reminds me of some I’ve analyzed from Greece or Mesopotamia, but it’s also - very different. It has a little bit of everything. And this metal…”</p><p>“Yes, Milo,” Kida interjects, "but can you open it?"</p><p>“We’re about to find out," Milo assures with a cocky attitude. He kneels and adjusts the paperclip into a proper pick. </p><p>Kida’s intrigued. “What are you doing?” </p><p>“I’m bending this paperclip into an L shape so I can use it to pick at the pins in the lock if there is any. I'd wager there are because locks with pins have been around since at least Pompeii. But that’s just a hunch. Ah, there we go.” He holds up his pick proudly. “Not the best, but it should do the trick.” </p><p>“And how do you know this?” </p><p>Milo shudders as the warmth of Kida’s breath tickles his neck. “Aaahhahaha, umm - back at the Smithsonian where I worked, I was located in the boiler room. There were so many days I’d go to the bathroom, only to come back and see the janitor locked me out of my study! And sometimes I’d forget my keys inside. So to get back in, I - you know, took up a new hobby learning a bit about picking locks. It wasn’t too much learning since some artifacts I analyzed were locks. After hundreds of years, not much has changed when it comes to how they’re built. Same when it comes to picking them.”</p><p>Milo inserts the screwdriver and gradually turns it. He listens intently, trying to hear any sign that he’s found the right point at which the lock will move. Despite his focus, he can sense Kida’s vibrant blue eyes scrutinizing him, observing every move he makes. He gulps, attempting to remain steadfast. </p><p>“I’ve almost got it, Kida! Now all I have to do is use the paperclip to click the pins in place." He takes the paperclip and inserts it into the hole, moving it about in swift accord. "Just one more pin and -” He wiggles it around, trying to undo the last pin. His confidence soon dissipates as he realizes something is amiss. </p><p>“Do you have it?” </p><p>“Hmm, no.” He jerks the clip around some more before taking a break to push his glasses up. “Something inside must have snapped or is rusted." </p><p>“Rusted?” </p><p>Milo scratches his head. “Yea. Could be rust or something jammed in there. The hole’s too small for me to see through. Or maybe your locks are different? The mechanisms inside, they could be -” </p><p>-THWACK- </p><p>“Whoa!” Milo falls backward, his glasses almost falling off of his face. “Kida, what are you -” </p><p>-THWACK- </p><p>He covers his face. Flecks of metal and rust fly into the air. </p><p>“There,” Kida says, dropping a rock and wiping her hands. “The lock has been unlocked.”</p><p>Milo peers at his feet and then the door. Sure enough, the lock has crumbled into several pieces. “Well, that’s one way to pick a lock,” he chuffs.</p>
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</div>Stone grinds against stone as Kida and Milo push the thin slab to the side and peer inside. It’s dark but still moderately visible thanks to the crystal's illumination. They wander within, inspecting the room. It’s a decent size. A writing table sits off at one end with shelves of parchment and writing tools above it. Several books litter the ground. The items' locations are no doubt from the prior events within Atlantis. Moss and fungi cover almost everything throughout, especially the books.<p>Milo plants his hand to his mouth, aware of what this means. He glances at Kida who's already inspecting some of the items. She appears unaware of the state of things. She spots a large manuscript located on a table and goes to investigate it. Her hand graces the cover causing Milo's breathing to hitch in anticipation. As Kida tries to lift the manuscript, its surface gives, buckling inwards. It's visibly damp and fragile from the centuries of exposure to humidity. Kida stops herself, taken aback by the poor condition. </p><p>“How do you suppose we move these, Milo?”</p><p>“I’m - not sure you can, Kida,” he replies sadly. “At least not that one. Maybe some of these over here are in better condition.” He points off to a bookshelf. </p><p>Milo knows the likelihood of any salvageable books is scant, but he can't resign to that idea. And who knows, there’s always the odd chance that at least one is still intact. It's a one in a million chance but it's still a chance. He goes to inspect one on a shelf that appears as though it’s in better condition and attempts to pull it out by its spine. As he presses down, his thumb and forefinger dig into the pages, regardless of his gentle contact. He stops and decides to try another. Kida scrutinizes him as he attempts to dislodge book after book and fails. </p><p>“What is the matter?” She asks with a tinge of desperation. “Are they all beyond approach?” </p><p>“So far? Yea…”</p><p>“You said you excavated artifacts back where you are from," Kida states sternly before pleading. ”Is there not something different you could try?”</p><p>“I guess I wasn't clear before but I never excavated artifacts, even though I trained for it a little. I only examined them," he replies disappointed. "Most items I touched and analyzed were usually hardy. Pots, metals, those kinds of things. Books or parchment? They were certified by archeologists to be intact enough for me to handle. Most of my time was mapping the dig sites and translating whatever they found. I’m not an archeologist by trade.” </p><p>“Well, if you dealt with such matters, even if on the periphery, surely there is something you could think of -”</p><p>“Kida, there's nothing even an experienced archeologist could do, let alone me. Even if I were somehow able to lift these books without damaging them, we’d still have to go back down all those steps. Neither of us would be able to do that.” </p><p>“If we cannot carry them, we must find - at least one - that we can open.” She looks around the room as a sense of panic begins to fill her eyes. “We don't even have to take it with us. You could write down what it says. Translate it.” </p><p>“I can, but that would be many trips. I mean - these books, most of them have to be at least three-hundred pages judging from the thickness." Milo slides his hand under his glasses to rub his face. His eyes are becoming strained trying to see in the dim room. "I could camp up here I guess. It would take me a few days to translate it though.”</p><p>“Milo,” Kida places her hands sternly on his shoulders. Flecks of light filter from the cracks of the ceiling and through the entryway illuminating her eyes. “You are a linguist. The only one who can read. My people need this. I - need this…”</p><p>Milo’s breath shudders as the dampness of the room and his sweat make him feel wet all over. He flashes back to that day. The day he threatened to resign. The day he was told to give up. To not become like his grandfather; a broken man. He remembers what Harcourt said, ‘you have a lot of potential, Milo. Don’t throw it away on some crackpot fantasy.’ Even then a part of him knew that if he kept chasing his dream. Going further down the rabbit hole. He would have lost all respect from his colleagues and face termination. Lost all funding and hope. Now the shoe is on the other foot. Now he’s the one trying to push reality upon her, an Atlantean.</p><p>“Ok,” he nods determinedly. “Let’s keep looking.”</p>
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</div>Milo and Kida sit dejected. Tiny piles of dust and flecks of parchment litter the ground from the few books they inspected. Many remain on shelves untouched except by time and the elements. And maybe, that’s as it should be. Except Milo knows that despite this reality, it’s one that brings no comfort to Kida or her people.<p>He rubs the back of his head. They should go, but it's not his place to say. This is her moment and her time. She should be the one to make the call. Still, he feels compelled to say something. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Kida.”</p><p>She doesn't respond. Instead, she gazes dimly at a small puddle. Drops of moisture fall into it from the ceiling synchronized like the pendulum’s arch in a grandfather clock.</p><p>Milo observes the flickering rays of light dancing about the floor. They're like fireflies awakening as it begins to grow dark out. </p><p>“I remember when I worked at the Smithsonian. How I would get pieces of parchment, a stone tablet, a goblet. They’d - sometimes - have me decipher and analyze it." He smiles. "I would get so excited when I knew a shipment was coming in. Most of the time they'd arrive pristine and intact. Well, as intact as some of them could be when they're over five-thousand years old. But it was exciting because I knew I was going to help unravel something that was forgotten. Something that would - inspire the world, make them appreciate what was once lost." He turns to Kida and chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. "Even if it was from the ‘boiler room fellow’ none of them would care to know existed." His smile fades as he continues. "Some days the artifact was so beyond recognition or destroyed during transport though. I would get sad. No,” he corrects himself. “Not sad - devastated. Devastated that - moment of history was gone forever. Because even if it wasn't my culture, it was once someone’s, or still part of someone’s.” He glances at her pitifully. “This transcends that." </p><p>“You do not know what a loss this is to me, Milo…” She whispers with a tinge of spite on her tongue. </p><p>“I know I don’t and I’d never pretend to know." He squirms. His brow furrows as though he's fighting to keep his mouth shut, but he continues. "I've also experienced loss. Not the same as yours of course - but, umm - what I'm trying to say is I’m here for you. If -” </p><p>Kida’s bright blue eyes shining in the room like a tiger in the bush. He looks back down, pulling his legs in with his arms in an attempt to take up less space. “Nevermind,” he chuckles wryly. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>They sit in silence once more. </p><p>“The embalmers will have prepared my father’s corpse by the next day.” </p><p>“Oh.” Milo coughs, stunned by the sudden change of topic. It had only been two days since Kashekim's passing. While he and the others knew that he would have a ceremony, it wasn’t something they inquired about. After all, they presumed it was a private matter, and the crew was originally to leave today. And the circumstances with which Kashekim died weren't all too pleasant... </p><p>“I umm - do you, do I uh… How do you feel about that?” He winces, realizing how insane he sounds. To his surprise, Kida responds unphased. </p><p>“I feel - saddened, but relieved.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I am sad that my father has passed due to the assault of your now deceased superior.” </p><p>“Umm -” There it is; that sting. “Yea…”</p><p>“But I am relieved that he is at peace. He was suffering long before you and your friends arrived. Although it was the duty of his servants to look after him, I insisted that I participate as well. I knew little of medicine, as did they. Medicine, it was something we did not have to rely on in the past, but when Atlantis fell - well..." She looks up at the ceiling as the last rays of light begin to fade. "His decline was what inspired me to access this place." She winces. "But now I know it was for nothing…”</p><p>“It wasn't for nothing, Kida.”</p><p>“Then what was it for? What good came of this? I was not able to help my father and now I am not able to help my people recover our past. Yes, I know the full power of the Heart of Atlantis has returned to us and you, your Shepard’s Journal." She picks up a piece of parchment tickling the edge of her foot. It crumbles between her delicate grasp. "But neither will restore what was lost. If only I had done something sooner.”</p><p>Milo's brow furrows as he speaks with a tone more focused than usual. “Back home in Washington, I got sick with a severe flu when I was a kid. My mom caught it taking care of me so my father ended up taking care of both of us. He was so exhausted. Running back and forth between the both of us and work. We had a maid, but she was part-time and my mother and father rarely used her. My grandfather was on an archeological dig in Egypt at the time. He got the weekly letter from my father, which informed him of our ailments. Knowing him he would drop everything to come back. But it would've taken at least twelve days to return and his employers at the Smithsonian - well..." Milo shrugs. </p><p>"Your mother... Did she get better?" Kida implores. </p><p>"My mom recovered," Milo nods, "but I was getting worse. Acute pneumonia. Even with the maid, my father-” he chuckles, “he never let her do much of anything. He was so run down and they had to get me a doctor, but there was a storm. It was so bad they couldn’t make a telephone call for him to stop by. So my mother and he decided to go to him. Bring him by the house I guess. Father drove that day with our horse and carriage." He swallows hard and bites his lip. "Neither of them came back.” </p><p>Kida looks at Milo. Those eyes. Crystal clear like a spring. He can see all too well what they’re saying to him. He looks down. </p><p>“... What happened to them?” </p><p>Milo wavers, "my father was sick and didn’t know it. ‘Walking pneumonia’ they call it. There was a beaten path, a shortcut, unpaved, that led into town. We used it all the time, but it had a sharp slope and was - treacherous on wet days. Especially during a storm. My dad and mom - went down that road…”</p><p>“Milo…”</p><p>He wipes his eyes before continuing. “It was getting dark out and the wind was horrific. It sounded like - banshees, screaming at me, from all directions. The maid was there, but I'd never felt so alone. We waited for what seemed like forever. Then we heard a knock at the door. She went to answer and I decided to get up too. I wasn't supposed to get out of bed, but me being a kid - I was so scared. Of being left in that drab room." He chuckles meekly although he feels himself scowling. "I just wanted to hug them. Wasn't supposed to do that either, but I wanted to…” </p><p>Milo clears his throat, pulling his legs even tighter towards his chest. “It wasn't my parents when I got to the door. It was an officer." He rakes his hand through his hair. "I don't recall much after that. I just - remember being put in some kind of, temporary care. Then two weeks later my grandfather picked me up. It took me a while to realize what had happened. That my mom and dad, they got sick from me. He kept telling me it wasn’t my fault, but -” He sighs, recollecting himself. “... You can’t blame yourself for your father or these books, Kida. But I understand why you do.” </p><p>A warmth envelopes Milo snapping him to. His hands remain by his side, surprised, and unsure of how to respond. He feels her nuzzle deep into the crook of his neck. Her breath shuddering alongside his. He melts into her embrace as the last ray of light fades into nothingness.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
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    <p>By the time Milo and Kida descend to ground level fireflies have begun to glisten in the dim sky. The journey back was in silence. Some of that was due to Milo concentrating on not toppling over the edge upon their descent from the peak. But a large amount was from the melancholy that lingered between them. Hundreds of tomes were in that study and not a single one was salvageable... He observes a child sitting on a stoop drawing on a piece of parchment with charcoal as they walk by. An adult takes up a pile of unused utensils into their abode. Suddenly it dawns on him. </p><p>"Do you know if any of the villagers have books of their own? You know, ones that were passed down to them?" </p><p>Kida stops. "I did - not think of that." Her brow furrows. "I could ask the viceroy to initiate an inquiry." She turns to him with a glimmer in her eyes. "Thank you."</p><p>"Oh, no problem. I'm sure there's gotta' be someone around here who has some books." A loud gurgling sound breaks the air. Milo looks down at his stomach. "Huh. Almost forgot we haven't eaten since -" he looks at the crystal. It's not like the sun, rising and setting allowing him to tell the time from its position or shadows cast. Its luminosity does change throughout the day, but he's not yet accustomed to it. "A while." He squints. </p><p>“We should prepare for dinner.”</p><p>“Yea,” Milo responds chipperly, trying to spread some positivity. “That eight-hundred-foot climb up and down has me famished. What’s on the menu?”</p><p>“Pork lard n’ lizard!” Shouts Cookie. </p><p>“Cookie!” Milo stumbles backward but Kida breaks his fall by catching his arm with ease. She looks at Cookie unphased. “Oh my gosh…”</p><p>“‘Pork lard’...” Kida repeats. “The remnants in that tin you showed me earlier today?”</p><p>“Tha’ very same, mam! Yer butchers had some reptilian lookin’ things hangin’ round yonder n’ ah thought ‘bout n’ old family dish my daddy dun cooked back on them hot summer days when you’d catch skinks runnin’ ‘bout. I figure since ya’ll’re kind enough to have us here I could replicate somethin’ to show my 'preciation!” </p><p>“Thank you, Cookie. I cannot wait to taste it.”</p><p>“You can’t be serious,” Milo mutters under his breath. Kida shrugs, unaware of the reputation Cookie’s dishes have despite her earlier repulsion to the lard's smell. </p><p>“Well, it should be ready any minute! In fact, I talked to a feller to come get ya’ll. Said you were up in them there mountains. Good to see ya’ll made it down in one piece.” He leans in to whisper to Kida. “‘Specially Milo since he ain’t one for treckin’. Him bein’ nothin’ but skin n’ bones I’m ‘sprised the wind didn’t blow him away!” </p><p>“Well then, we should perhaps put some weight on Milo?” Kida laughs. </p><p>“Darn tootin’; follow me!”</p>
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</div>The sky transitions from late noon to night as they walk towards the banquet hall. At least by Milo's estimates anyway. It’s completely dark out save for the faint glow of the crystals hovering overhead.<p>“Amazing…” Milo whispers staring up in awe. </p><p>“What is?”</p><p>“The crystal, it - it looks similar to the moon from here. The way it’s reacting with everything that is. </p><p>“Ah yes,” Kida says with faint sadness. “The moon…”</p><p>“C’mon c’mon!” Cookie ushers them. “Better get yer’ chow while it’s still hot!” </p><p>“Hey, Milo!” Audrey calls out from the banquet hall's interior as they enter. “We saved you a seat.”</p><p>Milo starts to approach them when he halters. “Would you like to join us, Kida? I mean -” He blushes. “You don’t have to it’s just -” </p><p>“I would love to, Milo.” Kida smiles tenderly. She rests her hand on his shoulder gesturing towards the food. “Feel free to gather food. I must briefly talk to the viceroy. </p><p>“O-oh, ok.” He chuckles as a sense of warmth flushes his face from her contact. “Ok - great. Umm - I’m just,” he tugs at the strap of his shirt. “I’m just g-gonna’ grab some food and sit down then.” </p><p>Cookie and Kida watch Milo leave towards the food.</p><p>“Mmhmm…” Cookie nods perceptively.</p><p>“Something wrong?” </p><p>“Boy’s got butterflies in his stomach.”</p><p>“Butterflies?” Kida asks concerned. “Are those intestinal parasites?”</p><p>“Shoot no!” Cookie sputters shocked. “‘Though that could explain his gaunt figure. No matter what I feed ‘em he's still tiny!”</p><p>“I am sorry then - I do not understand what you mean?”</p><p>“What I’m tryna’ say is boy’s got eyes fer ya’.”</p><p>“Where is he keeping them and why?” She challenges with a slight tinge of disgust. </p><p>“Dagnabbit, I’m sayin’ he likes ya’!”</p><p>“Well, I assume he likes everyone from what I can observe.” </p><p>“No, I -” Cookie pauses for a second, thinking of a different approach. “I know yer’ people are a bit complected, but ever notice that compared to us lighter folk Milo’s face turns red hot when he’s ‘round you? Shufflin' his feet n' rubbin' his neck?”</p><p>“Yes,” Kida acknowledges. “I presumed it was some sort of skin ailment. Maybe exposure to an allergen. I have been meaning to ask him about that...”</p><p>“Well, miss, that ain’t no ailment per se. When it comes to us white folk if we blushin’ it either means it’s too dang hot, we're sick, oooooor,” he leans in to whisper in her ear. “We’re ‘round someone we fancy.” </p><p>"'Fancy'?”</p><p>“Kida,” an Atlantean man calls out.</p><p>“I am sorry, Cookie, I must attend to this. Maybe later you can tell me more about butterflies and fancies.”</p><p>Before Cookie can respond, she’s gone.</p>
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</div>“So one of the Atlanteans had one of those cat-lizard pets we’ve seen around here, right? Said it had a lame leg due to being so old. Gave it a thorough hip massage and it was good as new!”<p>“Yea,” Audrey replies. “I’ve seen those around here too. Was wondering what they were. I wanted to ask but I don’t speak Atlantean. Some of them do speak Spanish! That was a big help when it comes to repairing that fish-thing I crashed two days ago. Was able to fix some stuff on it. Not much though considering a lot of the parts weren’t familiar to me. Going to see if I can do more work on it tomorrow," she says determinedly. </p><p>Audrey nudges Milo. “What were you up to today?”</p><p>“Ah! Who - me?” Milo looks up from his Shepard’s Journal. Despite having the book with him at all times in his satchel he’s not had much time to read it. It's rude to read during dinner. He knows that. Yet he can't help himself. He must learn as much as possible so he can get to work helping the Atlanteans. Besides reading during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, had become a hobby of his ever since he's lived alone. And it's not as though his colleagues at the Smithsonian would ask him to lunch. They did once or twice before, but it was a generous gesture that quickly evaporated. So he'd eat alone and read. Old habits are hard to break. </p><p>“No,” she says in jest. “Yes, you. Did you and Kida do anything or did you keep your nose in that book of yours?” </p><p>“Oh umm, Kida took me waaaay up to one of the highest points in the city. Wanted to show me something.”</p><p>“Quel genre de «quelque chose», hein?” Mole titters. </p><p>“Books, Mole, Books…” Milo answers embarrassed.</p><p> “Je suppose que c'est comme tu le dis!”</p><p>“Anyways - she wanted me to see if I could translate some works left by one of their oldest scholars.”</p><p>“Should've been easy for you,” Sweet chuckles, taking a swig of water. </p><p>“Well, the thing is, there weren’t any books to read.”</p><p>“Je suis sûr que vous avez lu quelque chose…” Mole grunts. </p><p>“All of them were damaged beyond repair.”</p><p>“Bummer.” Audrey sympathizes. </p><p>“Yea…” Milo glances at Kida who's waving goodbye to a man. “It was a bummer…”</p><p>Kida waves at Milo, proceeding to approach them with food in hand. Sweet gestures for Mole to get up. </p><p>“Quoi?”</p><p>“Go on, get.”</p><p>“Why must I be the one to move?!" Mole protests. "I was here first. You should move.”</p><p>“One - because you smell. Two - she needs to sit next to Milo.”</p><p>“What? Why?” Mole questions further. </p><p>"I think we know why," Audrey snickers. </p><p>Milo coughs feigning composure. “We're done with work for the day, guys.” </p><p>“Come on, Milo, don't play stupid,” Audrey smirks.</p><p>“'Come on' what? I’m serious.”</p><p>“Me too.” Sweet nudges Mole who crouches in a catlike manner. “Go on - get! Go on over there by Vinny.” </p><p>Vinny leans over, extending his forefinger into the air in objection. “Ah, not to be rude, but just ‘cause I’m covered in soot doesn’t mean I want to sit by him.”</p><p>“And just because I’m expelling soot doesn’t mean I want to ingest his…” Ms. Packard snarks.</p><p>“Guys. Kida doesn’t have to sit by me; she can sit wherever she wants. Besides, I’m sure she’d like to know more about you all before you leave. And I want to spend time with you all before you leave too.”</p><p>“Fair enough. Mole, you can stay, but behave yourself.”</p><p>“Juste parce que vous êtes médecin, vous pensez que vous êtes responsable...”</p><p>“Boy, I don’t know what you just said. But misbehave, and I’ll bathe you.”</p><p>Mole hisses. </p><p>“I mean it!” Sweet wags his forefinger.</p><p>Milo stares at Kida, oblivious to the ruckus going on around him. She sits between Vinny and Mrs. Packard who greet her. </p><p>“You know," Sweet declares, "I don’t mind movin’. I’m just worried about ol’ dirtbag here.”</p><p>“Hmm?” Milo blinks absently. “Oh oh yea yea yea - dirt…” He fumbles around with his food taking the occasional peak at Kida. He feels himself slipping away into a daydream but Audrey's laughter keeps him grounded.</p><p>“What’s so funny?”</p><p>Audrey and Sweet look away. </p><p>“Come on, what?” </p><p>“It is all too clear, Monsieur Milo, you are - in love.” Mole bats his eyelashes while clasping his hands. </p><p>“Noooo -” Milo waves him off. “No - no no - whoa!" His head jolts back as Sweet places his hand on his forehead and puts his stethoscope to his chest.</p><p>“Well you're not sick, so judgin’ from your flushed complexion and rapid heart rate I’d say it’s -”</p><p>“Amouuuur.” </p><p>“Guys, I’m not - in love - ok? I’m -”</p><p>“Infatuated?” Sweet sings. </p><p>“Seriously it’s not like -“</p><p>“Head over heals?” Audrey winks.</p><p>“Chaud et dérangé?” Mole horsley whispers. </p><p>“No!” Milo shouts much to the surprise of those surrounding him. He covers his eyes in shame surprised at his outburst. </p><p>“He must’ve taken a bite of Cookie’s dish…” Mrs. Packard notes from a distance. </p><p>“I dunno’,” Vinny dissents. “If he did that I would’a expect some of it to be on the floor…”</p><p>“Geeze,” Audrey utters taken aback. “We were just messing around.”</p><p>“I’m sorry…” Milo mutters with his hand resting on his forehead. </p><p>“What’s up, Milo?” Sweet inquires considerately. </p><p>“You’re right," he sighs. "I do - you know...</p><p>"Like her?” Audrey clarifies.</p><p>"Yea..."</p><p>“N’ what’s wrong with that?” Sweet leans in closer.  </p><p>Milo roughly gyrates his hands. “It feels - too soon, to have those kinds of feelings.” </p><p>“I dunno, Milo, I mean, mi papi only knew mi mamá for a few months before they hitched up and had my sister and me.”</p><p>“A few months is different from forty-eight hours, don’t you think, Audrey?”</p><p>“Sabelotodo... My point was you can’t dictate love. It comes to you. You know?”</p><p>“It’s not just that.”</p><p>“Well, what else is it then?”</p><p>“When we came down here, there wasn’t supposed to be people. Then there were. And when I -” he hesitates. “Was trying to help them, Rourke -”</p><p>“Rourke wasn’t your fault,” Sweet states sternly.</p><p>“Joder Rourke. And you were right, about how we needed to do the right thing,” Audrey asserts. "At least I hope we did," she murmurs. </p><p>“I still lead him down here. I - let him kill Kida’s father.”</p><p>“Milo, you didn’t,” Sweet asserts.</p><p>“Sweet, Audrey; I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but I don’t think you guys really know what failed good intentions feels like. At least, not to this level.” </p><p>“Milo,” Sweet shoots back with a tone he’d never heard. “As a doctor, I know all about how good intentions backfire. I was there with Kida's dad too, remember..."</p><p>Milo cowers, shocked that he had forgotten. He peers at his bowl like a remorseful child.</p><p>Sweet sighs and reaches into his shirt pulling out his necklace. His large hand caressing each artifact. “Did I ever tell you about what happened to my mother's tribe?” </p><p>Milo looks up at Sweet. “No,” he answers softly. </p><p>“When my father first met my mom it was with fur trappers. Oftentimes you needed someone keen on medicine if you happened to get stuck in a trap or bitten by some animal. Although he was contracted with them he was neutral with who he helped medically. Anyone who needed his help would get it. Hippocratic oath," Sweet nods with conviction. </p><p>"The Arapaho were cautious; understandable in hindsight. Many heard or seen somethin' or other concerning white men around the area. Coming along; eying the land's wildlife. In this case - beaver. Now, this particular tribe had a history of trading with these kinds of men. Didn't seem to have an issue from what I can understand, but still, they were cautious. They wanted a pact. So the fur trappers conceded. In exchange for letting them camp along the waterways during trapping season, they’d give the Arapaho firearms. Give them 5% of the skins to do with whatever they pleased too. The first few years were good. Nothing happened between the trappers and the tribe. They trapped their furs, traded, and left once the season ended. Dad learned their language so he could assist in keeping the peace. Was often a mediator between the two. It's how he met my mom, Jerika," Sweet smiles fondly.  </p><p>“Then one night the trappers got a bit too drunk. A bit too greedy..."  Sweet's voice drops as he continues. "They decided not to leave. They killed so many beavers and other animals. It was messing with the local flora and fauna the Arapaho needed. Especially during the winter. A few of the Arapaho men went to talk to them. To kindly, but sternly, ask that they leave for the season as agreed. A fight broke out. Fists turned to gunfire. Ended up killing twelve of my mom's people. Even a few kids… By the end of it, the trappers were dead. My father stitched up several of the Arapaho and they relocated soon afterward. Far away for fear of retribution even though it wasn’t their fault. They lost loved ones and their home that day..." He stuffs his necklace into his shirt. </p><p>“My mother, Jerika; she knew my dad had nothing to do with it. That he was a hired hand who didn't have the foresight to see what could happen. But he never forgave himself.”  </p><p>A silence fills the air and is only broken upon Sweet's lament. </p><p>“You can’t change the past, Milo. If you consume yourself with it, you’ll miss out on what needs to be changed in the present. Miss out on helping where you can, so that when people look back on this time, now, they’ll see it’s better off than it was before.” Sweet's large hand plants itself tenderly on Milo’s shoulder. “You’ve got that Shepard’s Journal, and if the past 48 hours have taught me anything, it’s that your heart’s in the right place. Always has been.”</p>
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</div>“I cannot believe you’re eating that…” Vinny looks on in disbelief as Kida scarfs down Cookie’s dish.<p>“I must admit,” she speaks muffled before swallowing, “it smells horrendous. But it tastes phenomenal.” </p><p>“You’re the first one to say that about his cooking, hun. And believe me, for as long as I’ve known him and ‘ate’ his food? That’s impressive…” Mrs. Packard compliments. A rare gesture indeed. </p><p>“You know what,” Vinny mumbles while inspecting the Atlantean crustacean on his dish, “I feel like I could make a sorprendente fritto misto di pesce out of these little guys; eh -” He inspects the animal’s size. “Maybe not so little.” </p><p>“You cook?”</p><p>“'Kinda’. Mia madre would make the most delicious seafood dishes. Pasta too. Eh… Breads; you name it.”</p><p>“I would love to try if you ever cooked during your stay!”</p><p>“Sure," Vinny grins. "I mean, I’m the only other cook in this group, come to think of it.”</p><p>“You’re the only cook, Vinny…” Packard huffs, looking off in the distance.</p><p>“What about you, Mrs. Packard, do you cook?” </p><p>“Nah. Husband does that,” she responds without making eye contact. Kida and Vinny turn to see what she’s gawking at. </p><p>Milo sits dejected, a distorted smile hardly tugging at the corner of his mouth as Sweet and Audrey appear to be comforting him.</p><p>“Milo, he looks - hurt,” Kida remarks with concern. “I wonder if something's the matter.”</p><p>Vinny and Mrs. Packard look at each other. An air of consternation resides in their faces. </p><p>“I uhh -” Vinny rubs his neck. “Could offer an opinion to that, if you wanna'  hear it.” </p><p>Kida turns around briskly. “Of course; tell me.”</p><p>“So - I’ve only known Milo for four, five days tops, but I can say he is a very passionate guy.”</p><p>“Oh yes. He is passionate about everything. Very inquisitive! He seems to want to truly know people.”</p><p>“Yah, that’s true. A coupla’ days ago? He and I uh - we talked a bit, you know… About your father.” </p><p>Kida studies Vinny’s face. The apathy usually lazing upon his stoic facade is absent. Instead, regret rests heavily upon it. “My father?”</p><p>“That first night after Rourke, you know - went ‘boom’? He didn’t sleep at all.” </p><p>Kida stares at Vinny concerned. “He didn’t?”</p><p>“No,” Vinny reflects. “We didn’t either.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I mean, as the guy who blew up your bridge among other things - I feel bad about it.” </p><p>“I know you do,” Kida comforts. “And I forgave you. All of you. We understand the circumstances.”</p><p>“And I appreciate that. But - that feeling, it’s like - ah - cadaverine, butyric acid; any malodorant really. When I would make - ah - stink bombs, among other things? That smell would always attach itself to me. Even if I never touched the chemical itself." Vinny wiggles his hands drawing attention to his gloves. "It would seep through. When I would take a bath, there was always a slight scent of it lingering on my flesh. Most people couldn’t make it out, or maybe they were kind to not mention it. But for me? I could always smell it. I knew what I’d done.”</p><p>“Yea…” Mrs. Packard acknowledges mournfully. </p><p>“Part of me - when Milo rightfully damned us, when I found out what happened to your father," Vinny pauses. "It reminded me of my daughter.” </p><p>“You have a daughter?” Kida says astonished.</p><p>“Had...” Vinny aches. </p><p>Kida puts down her bowl and inches towards him. “Might I ask what happened?” </p><p>“When I was younger, late teens early twenties, I had become known locally as a pretty good demolition’s expert despite never being educated in it.” Vinny gestures broadly with his hands. “I was passionate. Concocting my own TNT, saving up money from my family's flower shop to someday go to university."</p><p>"One day, around late spring I remember, a beautiful signora walked in asking for a bouquet. We talked, I prepared her order, and she left. She stopped by each day from her work. Often to pick up a flower. A simple cheap little one - a violet. We would talk and she would leave. The conversations became longer. We started to date. One summer's night I took her to eat and I presented her the most stravagante bouquet I had ever made. Inside it, I hid a ring; a 'fede'. I proposed and she said 'yes'. Soon we had the most beautiful little girl and we gave her the most beautiful name." His broad smile is hidden under his thick mustache, but its presence is undeniable. "Violet.” </p><p>"We saved up enough money for me to go to university. As luck would have it, I found freelance to do what I loved. Chemistry, demolitions, engineering; work in all sorts of places. Meat plants, circuses - you name it. Come late autumn I started my enrollment. Got my master's in engineering and demolitions in 1907 and my bachelor's in advanced chemistry in 1910. Life was bene."</p><p>Vinny's expression becomes withdrawn as he strokes his mustache. "Late in 1910, I was employed by a Sicilian guy. Enrico Bentivegna. He had a reputation and my wife - she was worried. She believed he was marcio, but the money was too good for me to resist... At first, it was usual work; demolitions, concoctions. Then I began noticing things. Enrico wanted me to make bombs not for demolitions, but ‘other uses’. Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, chloroform - I was disturbed, but he told me, you know, ‘no one would get hurt’. I was too much of a coward to question him. One thing led to another. Delivery trucks from a rival of his were destroyed with my explosives. Then one day, I guess - I dunno’ - someone tried to usurp Enrico. He and four other guys were killed. With my explosives..."</p><p>"My wife left and took Violet. I was incarcerated for manslaughter," Vinny says mournfully. "I didn’t kill those men, but I might as well have. And in a way, I killed my daughter and wife. I took the job with Whitmore because he believed I was innocent. I took the job with Rourke because - I thought, we all thought, this escapade? It would be like before. Robbin’ tombs and graves of people that no longer exist. That no one knew. Now that I think about it that’s murder all of its own. At least Milo wanted to educate people with his findings. His way of making them remember a culture and people long gone. I’m sure that feeling I have is in him too. Regret. Regret that he led us down here. That we did what we did. What we, not Milo, allowed Rourke to do...” </p><p>“I understand,” Kida whispers, placing her hand on his. </p><p>Vinny winces, stirring to get up. “Sorry to excuse myself - ah - don’t think I’m hungry.”</p><p>“It is fine,” Kida acknowledges with empathy. “Are you going to rest?”</p><p>“I’ll see if I can,” he smiles without making eye contact. “Buonanotte e mi dispiace.” And with that, he leaves.</p>
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</div>One by one Atlanteans exit from the banquet hall. They disperse in various directions towards their homes for the night while others head off towards the bathhouses.<p>Milo trudges along. He didn’t eat much and is starting to feel a little weak because of it. He yawns wearily, rubbing his eyes while moving to - who knows where. </p><p>His conversation with Audrey and Sweet, while well-intentioned, has exhausted him. The mood in the room afterward had shifted. Even Mole seemed more reserved than usual. He doesn’t know how long they are staying, but he feels ashamed that he’d ruined what was supposed to be their first night experiencing Atlantean culture. Instead, he squandered it with depressing conversations of guilt and regret. Let alone them knowing that he has - feelings for Kida. Something he can hardly hide much to his frustration. His presence here. The conversations he has. He feels slimy, like an invader. Like the fur trappers Sweet told him about. He wants to stay. To help Kida and her people, but...</p><p>Nevermind. Positive - positive. </p><p>He lurches forward. Unaware that the crowd has vanished. His mind is too cluttered to process much going on around him let alone his emotions. To do so would be as strenuous as decoding Nahuatl pictographs. He needs to rest to prepare for tomorrow.  </p><p>“Hey,” a voice calls out. </p><p>Milo starts. It’s Kida, sitting along the edge of a derelict wall. </p><p>“Oh,” he stutters. “Hey. Umm, when did - did you finish eating?”</p><p>“A while ago. That dish Cookie made, the lizard one? It was delightful.” </p><p>Milo's shocked. “You actually ate that? The entire thing?” He smiles. </p><p>“Yes!" Kida jumps off the wall with ease. “Your people are interesting, Milo. It was impressive to see Cookie combine something from his culture with ours. This dish of his. He said it was one he and his father cooked and ate during the summer. I would presume his father is dead. If so, it’s nice that he has that dish of his to carry on.”</p><p>“Yea,” Milo turns his attention to the ground, unable to look her in the eye. “I don’t know much about Cookie’s family though.”</p><p>Kida tilts her head. “Odd. Did you and he not talk much during your travels?”</p><p>“The first few days? Nah; not really. We weren’t close at all. I wasn't close to anyone come to think of it. The only one who went out of their way to get to know me was Audrey. I mean after I tried to talk to her first. They all warmed up to me eventually. Sweet, Vinny. It was pretty rocky those first few days though.”</p><p>“So,” Kida approaches, her eyes focused on him. “You were an outcast?”</p><p>“Yea,” he purses his lips and nods trying his best to remain stationary. “You could say that. Not that I'm foreign to that though considering my time at the Smithsonian," he quips.</p><p>“Hmmm -” she nods. “You and Audrey. What did you two talk about when you first conversed?</p><p>“Her family mostly and her dad’s auto shop,” he chuckles. “She’s a bit of a firecracker."</p><p>“A 'firecracker'?”</p><p>Milo glances at her while commencing his journey to nowhere. “Yea. You know - explosive. Firecrackers are similar to - umm - Vinny's bombs, but less deadly. Kids play with them a lot where I'm from."</p><p>"I still do not quite understand,” Kida admits sheepishly.</p><p>Milo pauses for a second to think. "Firecrackers are used for celebrations. They symbolize happiness or victory. Some are really small and just make a little popping noise and flash. But even those small ones are so abrasive that they surprise you. Make you jump a little. Audrey's kinda' like that. Especially when she jabs at you." </p><p>“And you cherish that about her?” </p><p>“Yea,” Milo grins. “ I mean - aside from the punching thing - I think it’s neat that someone as young as her is that assertive and stands out. She knows what she wants in life and is willing to get it. Now that I think of it - you two would probably get along.”</p><p>“Is it because I too am similar to a 'firecracker'?”</p><p>“Yea, but you're a different kind."</p><p>"Oh?" Kida approaches intrigued. "What kind would I be?"</p><p>"Audrey's like the small ones where she's explosive and sharp, but for only a millisecond. She makes her case known and leaves at that. You're more like a sparkler."</p><p>"A sparkler," Kida repeats with a childlike wonder.</p><p>Milo rambles on, ignorant of everything around him. "They're vibrant. And holding one is like - watching a shooting star up close. Many people think of them as a toy for kids on the 4th of July. Mostly because they look so weak compared to the ones you see in the sky." Milo shrugs. "But in reality, they're burning at two-thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Each spark emitting energy as sudden and as sharp as any other firework. But instead of dying near instantaneously when lit, they go on. And the way they sparkle and pop. That warm glow that lasts into the night? There's a pureness to it. A phenomena that just make you feel - joy. You're that, Kida. It’s what makes you beautiful. ” </p><p>Kida interjects Milo’s path causing him to bump into her. “You think I’m beautiful?”</p><p>Milo stiffens as the hairs on his arms rise. What did he just say… He stammers as he’s taken aback. His body heats up. “D-do-do-do I umm - what?” </p><p>“You said the way I am is akin to a sparkler. That I am beautiful.” </p><p>“I m-meant, both of you are -”</p><p>“You’re face!” Kida exclaims. </p><p>“What?!” Milo pants. He pats his face in fevered motions. “W-what about it?”</p><p>“It is doing what Cookie said; what I observed!”</p><p>“It’s doing what?!” </p><p>“It’s -” She leans into Milo, pushing him under the light of a lantern to better see. “Blushing,” she smiles wide-eyed. </p><p>“W-what?” Milo gasps both aware and confused at the same time. She grips the straps of his t-shirt. Their flesh touch as her warm breath tickles his face.</p><p>“Cookie… Cookie told me of this - you see; I thought you were having some kind of allergic reaction when you were around me. Something I had on maybe. But he told me - he told me this, that you had both ‘butterflies in your stomach’ and a ‘fancy’. I know not what either of those are. But I am glad that these flies of butter are not parasites as I presumed. As for a ‘fancy’ -” </p><p>“Pa-parasites?! No - no no no, Kida. Wait - Cookie?”</p><p>“Yes - I did not have the chance to ask him what butterflies or fancies were,” Kida continues. “But he told me that you liked me and that was the same as those.”</p><p>Milo feels his knees buckling; straining to keep him upright. “H-he told you what…”</p><p>“But that makes no sense to me… You like everyone! Yet he kept insisting that the way you like me has something to do with those other -” She gestures wildly with her hand trying to comprehend. “- Things.” </p><p>“Kida…”</p><p>“But they must!” She leans in so close that her breath and his own fog up his glasses. “If the butterflies are not parasites and you like the others but like me differently - what does that mean? What does it mean to 'like' me?”</p><p>Milo’s pressed against the wall as they stand underneath the lantern. Fireflies within it buzz about lazily contrasting with his pulsating heart. He's at a loss of what to do, what to say. He knows his feelings towards her. But he dares not say. How could he? Yes, he understands the principles and varieties of love, what he's feeling now? He's never experienced this. Milo can hardly recall the memories of his parents but he knows heartache. The warmth and security Thaddeus would provide during storytime? Fondness. That's a love he knows too. This? His heart is both feeling fondness and aching. </p><p>He's trembling. This warm sensation sinking deep into his gut; butterflies? No - not butterflies...</p><p>He can’t avert his gaze. His glasses fog up and clear with each breath he takes. Distorting and crystalizing her visage in synchronization. Suddenly, upon his glasses clearing up again, he notices Kida is looking elsewhere.</p><p>“Oh,” she peers downward with interest. “Is that -”</p><p>Milo grabs her hands, pushing her firmly away. “I need - to t-take a bath…”</p><p>“Oh -” Kida’s voice softens as though acknowledging she’s made him uncomfortable. “I - apologize. I will let the royal bathers know that you are  -”</p><p>“No, it’s fine.” Milo whimpers while attempting to draw attention away from - down there. He tries to look Kida in the eye. Stand tall and confident, but he can't. “I just need a bucket of water and a rag. I’m f-fine," his voice breaks. </p><p>Kida tries to interject, but he stumbles off without even saying goodbye.</p>
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</div>“Aaah…” Sweet sighs, lying down on a mattress and pile of pillows. “After all those times we slept in woods n’ gravel, a man could get used to this.”<p>“Tell me about it,” Vinny chimes while walking into Sweet’s room dressed in his usual nightgear. “This villa’s nice. Reminds me of the ones back home ancient Romans would use.”</p><p>“Hmm!” Sweet acknowledges with interest. “I never been to a bathhouse, especially one that uses oils and umm -” </p><p>“Strigils,” Vinny finishes off.</p><p>“Yea -” Sweet snaps his hand. “That. N’ thank god we have our own rooms with curtains considerin’ Mole... “ </p><p>“Thank god we have our own rooms considering Mrs. Packard…” Vinny compliments. “Benedici Maria e Gesù. Non vedremo mai più la forma nuda di quella donna...”</p><p>“If Milo were here I’d ask him what you said. But I’m glad I don’t have to hear any of you complain.” Mrs. Packard mumbles from her room. </p><p>“Speaking of Milo, where is he?” Audrey peeks into Sweet’s room from her’s across the way. </p><p>Vinny shrugs. “I woulda’ guessed he went to take a bath or - read. Didn't see him in the men's bathhouse though. I dunno’. Hey, what were you guys talking about anyway with him? He looked upset.”</p><p>“Little fella’s still hung up about Rourke.” </p><p>“Oh,” Vinny looks dejected at the ground. “I can understand that.”</p><p>Audrey gets up and walks to Sweet’s room. “I think we are all, to be honest… Can’t believe I almost went along with it. Estúpida…” </p><p>“Yea…” Sweet nods. “You and me both.”</p><p>Vinny sits down, fumbling with a pillow. “You know, even though Kida forgave us and gave us all that gold and what not, it still lingers. I mean - what if we did…”</p><p>Sweet covers his eyes in shame. “I don’t even wanna’ think about it.”</p><p>“Would’ve been blood money,” Audrey nods. </p><p>Vinny slaps the pillow onto his face in embarrassment.</p><p>Sweet groans. “Doesn't help that he’s in love with her, you know? Speaking from my dad’s experience with my mom, that can be rough waters to navigate.”</p><p>Vinny lifts the pillow. “He is?”</p><p>“Êtes-vous terne et aveugle? Of course he is!” Mole rumbles from his own room. “Quelle honte aussi. Ça aurait pu être moi…”</p><p>“Sure ‘nough!” Someone interjects. It’s Cookie. He smells of fresh oils and water, obvious that he’s just finished up at the bathhouse. Even so, the scent of pig grease still lingers. “Whew-wee them there springs take me back to baths up there in Yellowstone. Anywho it’s clear as day. Told Kida as much.” </p><p>Everyone’s gawps in shock.</p><p>“You told her? Why?!” Sweet asks sharply. </p><p>“Well, she seemed clueless. Still does. Darn woman didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout what I was sayin’.. Er’ butterflies and blushin’ n’ all that.” </p><p>“Cookie, she’s Atlantean. She’s not gonna’ know certain contexts of words after six-thousand-whatever years it’s been for her. And especially not whatever it is you're talking about. For the longest, she thought that I tasted sweet and was sweet natured, which -” Sweet chuffs, “- according to the ladies I am. She had no clue it was my surname. Kida probably thought the boy had parasites with the way you talk.” </p><p>“Ya’ darn right she did! Had to tell her he was cleaner than cooked chitlins.” </p><p>“Nice,” Vinny grins, giving the ok sign.</p><p>“Ok...” Sweet wipes his face. “Let’s all agree that whatever we do we stay out of whatever it is Milo and Kida are going through, ok? It’s none of our business.” </p><p>Everyone sounds off in agreement except for Cookie. </p><p>“I don’t think that boy’s been around a woman ‘cept a marble statue ‘ner touched one fer the matter.” </p><p>“Come on, Cookie, don’t be rough on the boy…” Sweet scowls. </p><p>“‘Boy’?! Dagnabit he’s thirty-two! Heck, by the time I was darn near seventeen I done touched a bosom ‘er two behind a hoedown barn. When did ya’ll first interact with a lady?”</p><p>“I was - seventeen,” Vinny recounts. </p><p>“Hmm - about twenty-something,” Sweet answers. </p><p>“Mon premier?” Mole snickers, “fifteen.” </p><p>“The only bosom that boob’s ever touched was his momma’s,” Audrey scoffs.</p><p>“Mensonges! petite dame; mensonges!” </p><p>“See?!” Cookie observes. “That proves my point. If we don’t help things move along that boy’ll die a virgin like Martha!” </p><p>“Thanks, Cookie. It’s nice to know my intestines are like a cooked pig’s and that you think I’m an endling…”</p><p>“Milo,” Cookie flounders surprised.</p><p>“It’s also really nice that you told her -” he stops himself short, aware of everyone else in the room. “Well, you all know…” He scowls. </p><p>“Aww shoot, boy; I was just tryin’ to help,” Cookie remorses. </p><p>“Well, please don’t, anymore, ok?” Milo requests with melancholy more than anger. “Any of you; just don’t…” He walks past them and into his room, picking up a pillow and blanket then exiting. </p><p>“Where are you going?” Audrey asks. </p><p>“I’m sleeping outside.”</p><p>“In the open?” Sweet sounds concerned. </p><p>Milo doesn’t respond. He tramps past them and exits the villa. </p><p>The crew sits in awkward silence until Vinny decides to speak. “I know he just said he didn’t want anyone helpin’ him but I think he could use a pep talk. And not from you, Cookie.”</p><p>Cookie stops mid-step. “Fair ‘nough.</p><p>“I could talk to him,” Audrey proposes.</p><p>“Nah, I think this is a talk that needs to be uomo a uomo; man to man.”</p><p>“Me!” Mole pulls his room’s curtain back in excitement. </p><p>“Someone who has experience courting. Making passionate love to a woman.” Vinny, eyes closed, gestures with his hands in an emotional display. </p><p>“I will do it!” Mole offers again.</p><p>Vinny opens his eyes and sees everyone’s staring at him. </p><p>“Ah...”</p>
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</div>Vinny makes his way to the area where their Atlantean submarine was earlier in the day. The camping materials were still within the vessel so it's the logical place to find Milo. And if Milo's pitching skills from a few days ago are any indication, he'd need his help regardless. Sure enough, he finds Milo straining to erect a tent.<p>Milo peaks over his shoulder for but a moment. “What are you doing here, Vinny?” He asks with a sour tone as he continues his failing efforts. </p><p>“You said you were gonna’ sleep outside and I figured I’d help you with your tent,” he smirks. </p><p>“Hahah, very funny…”</p><p>“I’m serious.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t need your help, ok?” Milo asserts while securing the last peg. “See?” He glares at Vinny. The tent starts to sag until its ridge all but collapses. </p><p>“Hmm - If you don’t want any help, that’s fine by me. I think I'll appreciate the cool air a bit before heading back to the villa.” </p><p>“Did Sweet send you out here?” He asks keenly. </p><p>“Everybody did if you want the truth,” Vinny shrugs.</p><p>“Look, I know you all think I’m some goober who doesn’t know anything outside of books. That I can’t do things on my own. But I’m a pretty self-sufficient man and have been since I was four, ok?” </p><p>“I don’t think anyone doubts you’re a capable person, Milo. It’s just - you don’t know everything, you know? And hey - that’s ok. It’s why Whittmore hired us; for our specialties. When we apply what we know to a thing - or whatever, we get it done. Capire?”</p><p>Milo watches despondently as his tent collapses even further. “So I can’t pitch a tent. But I get the feeling you didn’t come all the way out here just to help me with that.” </p><p>“I’m out here for whatever you’d need. But like I said, if you don’t need me, I’ll go back to the villa.” Vinny shrugs. “Your choice.” </p><p>Milo sits momentarily before conceding with a nod. He picks up a rope and faces Vinny. Vinny approaches the tent, inspecting his workmanship. </p><p>“Ah, see what you did here? Looks like you didn't push down the pegs for your front guy line then do the rear tent pole and then - eh - attach your rear guy line.”</p><p>“You can tell from just - looking?”</p><p>“Yah.”</p><p>“Huh.” </p><p>"Mind if I?" Vinny gestures with his hand.</p><p>"No no," Milo hands him a rope, watching as he works his magic. Vinny knows that the last time he helped Milo it was with haste, as though he was irritated to assist. This time he's taking his time. Peaking over his shoulder to ensure Milo can see and understands what he's doing and why.  </p><p>“The rest of what you had was good. Just gotta’ remember, corner pegs, front pole and guy line, back pole and guy line, then the other pegs.”  </p><p>Milo admires Vinny's final product. He rubs the side of his neck. “Gee; thanks, Vinny.”</p><p>“Nessun problemo,” Vinny smiles as he sits down and peers into the sky. Milo sits down beside him. </p><p>“Beautiful, isn’t it?” </p><p>“What is?”</p><p>“That crystal, light - thing.”</p><p>“Oh, the Heart of Atlantis. Yea. it sure is.” </p><p>They observe the crystal in silence for what seems like forever, but Vinny doesn’t mind. It’s nice to hear nothing but the buzz and song of fireflies and crickets. </p><p>“Vinny,” Milo whispers.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>Milo pauses with his mouth agape, struggling to speak until he shuts down again. “I’m sorry, heh. Nevermind.”</p><p>“Ok,” Vinny shrugs and returns his attention to the sky. “I should -ah - probably go to bed, but once we’re back on the surface, I’ll never see anything like this again.”</p><p>“Yea,” Milo agrees. “Did you ever go camping as a kid?” </p><p>“Who me? Nah. I was too busy makin’ stink bombs and whatnot. I grew up around a small port in Palermo, far away from the woods. Why?”</p><p>“I was thinking; us being out here with the tent, looking up at the sky. It reminds me of when my grandfather and I would go camping. At night we’d play games like - seeing who could find the most constellations or fairy rings.” Milo chuckles. “It’s strange to see no stars. But if you look close enough at the stalactites and rock formations, you can see some of them sparkle. Kind of like stars.”</p><p>“Ah,” Vinny observes. “Interesting.” </p><p>“You and the crew; did any of you look up at the stars when you camped?”</p><p>“Nah, not that I recall. We’d just, yah know. Sleep.” </p><p>“Well, when you return to the surface, you should do it sometime. If you get a telescope, you can even see some of the planets during certain seasons in the year.”</p><p>“No kidding,” Vinny says in sincere astonishment.</p><p>“Oh yea,” Milo nods with enthusiasm. “Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn; don’t even need a telescope for some of them.” </p><p>“Wow… I’ll be sure to do that. You’re a goober, Milo. But you have a different outlook on things. Kida’s lucky to have you around.” </p><p>“Thanks, Vinny,” Milo smiles curtly. His face becomes pensive as he bites his lip. “Speaking of Kida, when she sat with you and Mrs. Packard at lunch... What did you talk about?” </p><p>“Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything about you two, well - I mean, kinda’ but not really. I told her about my family. A bit of my life back home in Palermo before Whitmore contracted me. She noticed you looked kinda’ sad, which is why I brought up my family. To draw a parallel without, you know - proddin’ in your business.” Vinny clarifies.</p><p>“She thought I looked sad?” </p><p>“Yah, I mean - I thought so too. I dunno’ what you and Sweet were talking about, but ah - you know, I told Kida, that you and I talked a bit about her father. How when we did, you seemed upset with yourself.”</p><p>Milo bites his lower lip. </p><p>“I said I felt the same way you did, even though you were the only one who never knew what Rourke had planned." Vinny caresses his mustache. "That weight I carry? It's the same with my wife and daughter.”</p><p>Milo turns to him with surprise. “Vinny, I didn’t know you have a family.”</p><p>“Had," he corrects in sternness.  </p><p>“Oh… Is it - um - ok if I ask what happened?”</p><p>“Eh, I don’t want to recount too much. But ah, let’s say I made some life decisions that caused me to lose them. They’re not dead or anything. My wife left and took our daughter. But it’s kinda’ like they’re dead.” </p><p>“Yea… My parents died when I was four." </p><p>“Oh," Vinny says in shock. "I’m sorry to hear that.” </p><p>“Kida mentioned her father when we went to see if we could recover some ancient books on top of one of those peaks. All of them, being well over two-thousand years old in this humid climate, were untouchable. She blamed herself for 'not trying hard enough'. Implying that somehow it was her fault he died because she couldn't access those books. But even if she could, she can't read them. Still. She blames herself... But what could she have done?"</p><p>"Nothing," Vinny shrugs. "The same could be said for you too, Milo. What could you have done?"</p><p>Milo glares at Vinny. </p><p>“Sweet told me you blame yourself for Rourke. Why?”</p><p>“If I hadn’t led him down here Kida’s father wouldn’t be dead,” he asserts, indignation seeping through his tongue. </p><p>“Did you know that Rourke tore a page out of your journal? Conspired to genocide an entire people - which we didn’t know were down here by the way - for that crystal? Then sell it to the highest bidder on the black market?  Or did you know that Rourke was a commanding officer who could be snide at times? Who wanted to fulfill his contract to get some gold and whatnot from derelict remains and go home?”</p><p>Vinny nods as he notices Milo starting to comprehend his point. </p><p>“Thing is, when I did what I did that caused my wife and child to leave, I saw the signs. I knew I was contributing to something wicked, but I kept doing it because - I was greedy. You and I? We know what guilt is. We carry it. But you're not like me, Milo. You're a linguist. A linguist who only wanted to learn about this place and share that knowledge with the world. And when we discovered that people were down here? First thing you did was try to help them. Not once did you covet fortune or fame. Not even the crystal. When you found out it was their life force you fought to help them keep that. You were the only one of us with good intentions from the start. From my conversation with Kida, it’s safe to say she knows that too.” </p><p>"You think so?" Milo's voice cracks.</p><p>"Of course, I mean - she told us all we were forgiven. If anyone's been rebaptized in her eyes it's you." </p><p>They sit in silence once more. Insects hum in the night as the Heart of Atlantis glows on into the night. </p><p>“You’re sure about staying with them?” Vinny asks.</p><p>“I have to. I’m the only one who can translate Atlantean," Milo asserts as though any other arrangement is out of the question. </p><p>“Well then, you should stop carrying all that guilt around if you're gonna' be working with Kida, eh?”</p><p>Milo blushes.</p><p>“And don’t be such a goober around her. Be yourself, like you are with us.”</p><p>“I am myself when I’m with her.”</p><p>“Nah, you’re not. I see you two together. You shut off the moment she gets too close or touches you.”</p><p>“She is the queen," Milo justifies softly. </p><p>“So?”</p><p>“I’m - we’re friends.”</p><p>“That’s it?”</p><p>“Yea.”</p><p>“Nah.”</p><p>“And what do you think we are?” Milo huffs.</p><p>“You two are adorable is what I think. Neither of you know anything about courtship. It’s like - before puberty when you - ah - like someone and then you realize you ‘like-like’ someone. And you realize other things too, if you know what I mean.”</p><p>“You think she likes me?”</p><p>“Of course. It’s as clear as day.”</p><p>Milo sits up. “Ok, say that she does like-like me, how - how do I, you know; approach that?" </p><p>“Here’s what you do. You take her somewhere nice, maybe have a walk in - ah - park or something. Dinner.”</p><p>“And?"</p><p>"And, you know - talk to her." </p><p>"That’s it. huh? Just say, 'lovely afternoon we're having, Kida. By the way, I'm enamored with you.'" Milo sneers skeptically. </p><p>“No, you don’t just blurt it out. You work it into the conversation. Like - how you did earlier with me. Talking about stars and your grandfather. Something like that.” </p><p>Milo reflects for a moment. “I guess I - unintentionally - did something similar. After dinner, when Kida asked me about my relationship with you all? I told her about how Audrey was the first one to genuinely talk to me. Compared her personality to a firecracker and told Kida she was similar. But more like a sparkler, you know? 'Full of energy. Beautiful to behold’...” he mumbles mocking himself.  </p><p>“Vedere? Eccolo! That’s the Milo I’m talkin' about.” Vinny pats Milo's back hard causing his glasses to become crooked. He leans forward in anticipation. “What happened next eh?”</p><p>“Umm -” Milo exhales heavily. “I - pushed her away.”</p><p>‘What?! Why?”</p><p>Milo becomes flustered. “Because she had my back against a wall and her - chest was touching mine and I was -”</p><p>Vinny raises his brow. </p><p>He pauses meekly. “Nervous..."</p><p>“And?” Vinny asks knowing Milo’s not being forthright. </p><p>“That’s it; I was nervous.” </p><p>“I’mma not gonna’ tell anyone else what happened, Milo. Come on, I want to help you.” </p><p>Milo moans as he wipes his forehead. His face red hot and sweating profusely. “I was - excited... Physically speaking...”</p><p>“Eh,” Vinny shrugs. “That’s not so bad. Embarrassing? Maybe, but -“</p><p>“She noticed too…”</p><p>“Ok, maybe that is a problem. Did she seem upset?”</p><p>“I - I don’t know. I wasn’t able to think. There were more pressing matters at hand.”</p><p>“Heh; that’s one way of putting it,” he chuckles. “But hey, no worries. It happens sometimes.” </p><p>“That doesn’t just - ‘happen sometimes’, Vinny, ” Milo whimpers. </p><p>“What - you’re tellin’ me you’ve never ‘pitched a tent’ around a lady?” Vinny chaffs with levity. </p><p>Milo buries his head between his legs in shame. “No. I haven’t, ok? And why would I? That’s rude.”</p><p>“It’s not voluntary you know. And hey, if you don't experience that? Ok. It’s just - I dunno’ - odd. I mean - you’re only thirty-two.”</p><p>“Yes, I’m thirty-two… Why does everyone keep bringing up that I’m thirty-two?”</p><p>Vinny continues with an air of concern. “Do you masturbate?”</p><p>“Lord…” Milo groans. </p><p>“You know - masturbate. When you use your hand to rub your -”</p><p>“Yes!” Milo yells into the sky in exasperation. “I know how masturbation works; I don’t need a lecture on it. Can we please talk about something else? Anything else! Like - uh - the fireflies! Yea.” He rubs his hands vigorously forcing a smile. “Let’s talk about fireflies. Or - hey - fireworks. Explosives! Anything else...” </p><p>“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Milo. Everyone masturbates. Even ladies.” Vinny winces as a foul image pierces his thoughts. “Even Mrs. Packard.”</p><p>“Thank youuuuu for that insight, Vinny. I’m sure that last tidbit will in no way haunt my dreams...”</p><p>Vinny raises his hands, realizing he’s crossed a boundary. "'Ey I'm only asking 'cause I want to help you not experience that again." His tone becomes soft, almost parental. "So you've never experienced that before? Eh - the thing with Kida."</p><p>Milo frowns in humiliation, "no..."</p><p>"Hey," Vinny reassures. "That's ok. I know it can be embarrassing. Was for me the first time it happened. If you're gonna' be near her and are afraid of getting excited, do like you do when fixing a boiler - eh? ‘Bang the pipe'. 'Release some steam’ before you see her.”</p><p>Milo asks with genuine curiosity. “Ok, let’s say that I - do that; are you even sure that will work?”</p><p>“So you don’t masturbate?”</p><p>“Of course -“ he winces, “I do. Just not that often…”</p><p>“And that's fine too! But yah; works for me and every other guy I know. Thing is - you’ll still be excited, but it won’t show so much - eh - physically? Half-mast maybe. Depending. Pants will hide it. I know ‘cause I always gotta’ use the bathroom at - ah - around 5am? So, you know, I do it then while everyone’s asleep. Come morning? No extra tent, if you know what I mean.”</p><p>“Yea. I know what you mean,” Milo nods uncomfortably but convinced. “Well, Vinny, I appreciate you helping me with my tent and uh, giving me those - tips. But I am really exhausted now. Think I’m gonna’ get some shuteye.”</p><p>“Eh, no prob and same. I don’t know if it’s late 'cause," he gestures to the crystal, "you know, but I’m gonna’ say it’s pretty late.” Vinny gets up and stretches then proceeds to leave. “Buona notte, Milo.”</p><p>“Hey, Vinny?”</p><p>“Ya’?” He looks over his shoulder. Milo’s gyrating his hands together, a soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.</p><p>“I’m sorry, for my attitude. It's just - I've never - felt this way before. And never had anyone to talk to about these kinds of things." He purses his lips in shame. "I really appreciate your help.” </p><p>“No prob,” Vinny grins with a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll be fine. And ey - you need advice? Just ask. Buona notte,” Vinny waves before leaving.</p><p>“Buona notte,” Milo whispers back fondly.</p><p>Vinny departs and the night air comes to life with the soft songs of crickets as the Heart of Atlantis shines on.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Special thanks to MoonLeNoirCrow for proofing historical content concerning paragraphs referencing Arapaho natives. </p><p>Also, special shoutout to my friend Mr. J for ensuring the dialogue between Vinny and Milo felt authentic lol.</p><p>And as usual, shoutout to RovingOtter for general proofing. </p><p>I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. ✨</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A bright light seeps through the tent’s cloth. Milo rolls around in his knapsack as his limbs flail about lazily in attempts to get comfortable. Despite his efforts, the bright warm embrace of day becomes too present for him to ignore. He’s still not used to the way time works in Atlantis, let alone a tent. So his body is ever more alert in these circumstances.</p><p>He sits up and stretches, twisting his neck back and forth in an effort to resolve some tension to no avail. Oh well. Sweet will gladly pop it for him as he’s done the past few days they’ve been together. A gesture he'll sorely miss upon the crew's inevitable departure.</p><p>Milo proceeds to remove the cover from his knapsack and pauses. He feels - odd.  A strange sensation runs down the length of him as the knapsack's fabric graces his flesh in a peculiar way. A tantalizing way. </p><p>“Oh,” he observes below. “Oh no…”</p><p>‘Nocturnal penile tumescence’, as it's scientifically called, is something Milo’s rarely encountered. Maybe in youth, which is expected, but such events aren't at the forefront of his memory. From the mild recollection of ones he's had as an adult, they've been easily resolved. A trip to the bathroom or a cold shower normally does the trick. But he’s not within the privacy of his apartment. He’s residing in a tent in the open. People are bound to be out and about. </p><p>He quiets himself, straining to hear if there’s anyone outside. Aside from the sounds of wildlife and the occasional distant holler, it appears as though he’s alone. He sighs in relief. This is good. All he needs to do now is exit to the nearby brush with haste and relieve himself. But what if someone sees? He ponders for a moment until recalling last night. His conversation with Vinny.</p><p>Did… That - happen? Last night should feel like a blur but it doesn’t. Milo can, unfortunately, recall it all. His confession to Vinny about his feelings for Kida; Vinny’s ‘advice’. </p><p>To be fair, his advice seemed genuine. In their initial encounter, Vinny was a gremlin. A prankster. But last night? It was heart-to-heart, even if the topic wasn’t palatable.</p><p>Milo stalls to consider his options. On one hand, he could use the bathroom and be done with it. However, someone could see him. On the other hand... No. That - is something he's rarely done. Rarely felt the urge to do. He knows it's atypical for a man, especially one his age, to not engage in such an activity. He's read about it before, masturbation. A form of release from sexual tension, anxiety. At its basal core an urge to reproduce. Yet he's never felt that 'excitement' he's read of when near a woman. And anxiety? Well - a brisk walk around the block or playing with his Persian cat Fluffy was the remedy. Even so, the circumstances around him have evolved. His usual comforts are gone, and there is a woman he is often near that makes him - feel...  </p><p>He winces. That’s right. Kida. Regardless of his hesitation, he's committed to helping her and her people. And in order to help he'll have to talk to her directly as she's the only other person who's multilingual. At least to his knowledge. A confrontation of last night is inevitable. A knot forms in his stomach as his mind free falls into the worst-case scenario.</p><p>“Ok, Milo,” he rubs his hands vigorously before shaking them. “Calm down. This isn’t a big deal. Just - go use the bathroom and then - then meet Kida and… Plan for the day! If she brings up last night you’ll - talk about it. Somehow… Gah…” He closes his eyes and holds his breath. “You’ve got this.” He opens his tent and steps out. </p><p>“Mrs. Packard!” Milo falls back, reaching for his knapsack in haste, covering his privates. “W-what are you -” </p><p>“Hi, Milo,” she huffs her cigarette. “I came to ask if you’ve got Cookie’s bucket.”</p><p>“C-Cookie’s bucket?” He repeats flabbergasted. </p><p>“Yea, the one he uses to store animal guts when he's butchering Lord knows what. He needs it.”</p><p>“Oh I uh," Milo grimaces. "He uses that for animal guts?”</p><p>“Yea," she blows a cloud of smoke. "Why?”</p><p>“No - no reason. Ummm - let, let me get that real quick.” </p><p>Milo searches his tent until he finds the bucket and hands it over to Mrs. Packard.</p><p>“Hmm -” she inspects it. “Smells a lot cleaner than normal.”</p><p>Milo gulps in fear that he’s done something wrong. But instead of prodding further, she shrugs, turning to head off.</p><p>“Oh," she stops. "Breakfast will be ready in a bit. Thought I should let you know."</p><p>"Thanks, Mrs. Packard. Hopefully, the Atlanteans are making something. I dunno' if I want to trust whatever Cookie's making," he chuckles, attempting to make the moment less awkward. Mrs. Packard seems oblivious enough at least.  </p><p>"You and me both. Also -  in case you didn't know, Kida has some kind of announcement to make.”</p><p>Milo catches his breath. “She does?” He wrings the knapsack. “Do - do you know what it’s about?”</p><p>“No. If anyone would know I thought it would be you.”</p><p>“Oh…”</p><p>“See you later, Milo," she trudges off. </p><p>“Yea. See ya’.”</p><p>As she leaves Milo begins to gather his clothes for the morning when he catches himself. He peeps at his undergarment and sees he's still sporting an erection.  </p><p>“Great...” He falls face-forward into his knapsack, exasperated.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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    <b>-◬-</b>
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</div>By the time Milo arrives at the banquet hall fresh food has been placed onto the tables.<p>“Hey, Milo!” Sweet hollers from across the way in a food line. “Good to see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”</p><p>“Bushed is more like it,” Milo yawns. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”</p><p>“Aww, that’s a shame” Sweet responds forlorn. “Well, thankfully the Atlanteans have an equivalent to coffee. Should fix that right quick!”</p><p>“They do?” Milo perks up. </p><p>“Yea!” </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Tide root, mon bon ami!” Mole exclaims presenting Milo with a small cup bearing a light periwinkle liquid. Flecks of what appears to be a yellowish root and small pink flowers adorn the liquid’s surface.  </p><p>“Oh - hi, Mole.” Milo greets a little wary. “Is that for me?” </p><p>“Mais bien sûr! This concoction is from part of my labor! I helped till the soil and collect the root from where it grows!” Mole grins with pride.</p><p>“Hey, that’s really neat.” Milo takes the cup and proceeds to sip. “Interesting flavor,” he compliments. “Anything else in this?”</p><p>“Non,” Mole declares. “It is but the plant and spring water.”</p><p>“Well it tastes amazing,” Milo nods with sincerity. “Thanks.” </p><p>“Speakin’ of food tastin’ amazin, how ‘bout you get on over here and taste my dang giblets!” </p><p>“Oh, Cookie." Milo chuckles. "Umm - sure.” He approaches Cookie’s dish which looks like meatballs covered in herbs and grease. He takes a small sample with hesitation. </p><p>“Doh’- don’t be shy, boy. I know yer’ starvin’. Here!” Cookie plops a heavy helping of his dish into Milo’s bowl.</p><p>“Gee, Cookie. T-thanks.” </p><p>“No problemo’." He waves Milo off as an Atlantean man approaches. The Atlantean speaks to Cookie with enthusiasm. Inquiring about the dish and asking for seconds much to Milo’s surprise. </p><p>“I noticed a lot of Atlanteans seem to really like Cookie’s cooking.” </p><p>“Yea,” Sweet agrees. “I’m shocked to see it too. I must say it’s nice to see each of us fit in somewhere and help though, you know?”</p><p>“Yea. It is...” Milo says with an unsure tenor. </p><p>“Milo!” Vinny waves.  </p><p>Milo turns to Vinny who beckons him again with a gesture of the hand. He shuffles over and sits. </p><p>“So - ah - how’d you sleep last night?”</p><p>“I dunno’,” Milo mumbles. His hand absently moving the food around in his bowl. “What about you?”</p><p>“Me? Slept like a baby. Those pillows and mattress? Knocked me out faster than the time I blew up a canister of chloroform. ‘Ey, maybe tonight you can sleep with us in the villa. Can’t imagine that tent was pleasant.”</p><p>“It felt fine,” he shrugs. “Just - a lot of weird dreams.”</p><p>“‘Good’ weird or ‘bad’ weird?” Vinny raises his brow. </p><p>Milo hesitates unsure of how much to reveal. He’s not mentally alert for another conversation like last night. Especially around everyone else. “I don’t remember.”</p><p>“Eh, if that’s the case then don’t worry about it. Probably wasn’t too important.” </p><p>Milo sighs in relief. He takes a sip of his beverage and scans the room. “Do you know where Kida is?”</p><p>“Nope,” Sweet sits. “Thought she would’ve been with you.”</p><p>"No."</p><p>“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Vinny comforts seeing Milo’s thinly veiled consternation. “I’m sure she’s dealing with - princess stuff and whatnot.” </p><p>“Queen,” he corrects.</p><p>“Oh, yea.” </p><p>“Milo,” Audrey taps his shoulder pointing off to the distance. </p><p>It's Kida. She's standing alongside her viceroy and regents. Her clothes are different, more chaste it would appear. Regal. No longer do the usual trappings of the villagers adorn her body. Instead, an elegant white gown flows down the length of her. Its design and shape are similar to her fathers’. Her hair is pulled back into an elaborate ponytail. Although a few loose strands form a small bang over her right eye. </p><p>The room grows quiet as the viceroy makes an announcement in Atlantean.</p><p>“What did he say?” Whispers Sweet. </p><p>“He says, ‘the queen wishes to make an announcement,’" Milo gulps.</p><p>Kida steps forward. The sound of her footsteps echoes into the room as everyone looks on in reverence. She addresses the room in a calm and collected manner foreign to Milo. Every element of her fiery and curious personality seems to be all but washed away as she speaks. This tone; it reminds him of what she recited to him below in the caverns with Helga and Rourke. He shivers as she begins to speak, her words pierce deep into his core like a pick through stone. The crew glance at Milo and at one another, unable to decipher what she’s saying but knowing it is serious. </p><p>She continues orating. Her hands gesture to the entire room. Referencing the ground, her heart, and finally, the sky. Piercing light blue eyes observe every Atlantean as though she is speaking directly to them. The whites of her clothes seem to make them all the more haunting. The sense of respect and adoration for her words are all too apparent on the Atlanteans’ faces. Some nod with stern empathy. Others weep. While many clasp their crystals. She scans the room with intense focus until she locks onto Milo. His breath falters as his heart begins to sprint. He wants to look away, but that would be inappropriate. They gaze at one another for what seems like an eternity. He feels trapped. Sinking into a dark cold place with only her ghostlike eyes peering at him. Like two moons against a pitch-black sky. Finally, she detaches and makes her way across the room once more. </p><p>As Kida's speech comes to an end, she raises her glass while placing her hand upon her crystal. The Atlanteans mimic the gesture as do Milo and his crew. </p><p>“Nishentop Adlantisag, naydux animeum!" Kida declares. </p><p>“Nishentop Adlantisag, naydux animeum!” Recites the crowd as they drink from their cups. </p><p>Kida sits and gradually everyone commences back to their activities. </p><p>“I dunno’ if I said any of that right,” Vinny whispers despite the volume in the hall being back to normal. </p><p>“I don’t either. I kinda’ mumbled through it,” Audrey shrugs sheepishly.</p><p>“Hey, Milo. What was she saying up there?” Sweet asks. </p><p>Milo slumps listless. His attention fixed upon the ground with a thousand-yard stare. </p><p>“Milo,” Sweet taps him lightly.</p><p>He looks up at Sweet but says nothing. </p><p>“You ok?”</p><p>“Y-yea,” he assures weakly. “Umm - what did you... Were you saying?”</p><p>“Kida's speech; we couldn’t understand any of it. What did she say?”</p><p>“She said - that Kashekim’s remains have been cremated. That tomorrow the start of the ceremony ‘ankurhai’ would commence.”</p><p>“Is that like a funeral?” Audrey asks. </p><p>“Yea,” Milo licks his lips pensively. “It’s similar. The Shepherd's Journal doesn’t mention much about it, but I would suspect that’s what it is.”</p><p>“She say anything else of note?” Sweet asks. “That was a mighty long speech she gave.”</p><p>“No,” Milo responds detached.</p><p>Sweet studies Milo. A spark of concern and doubt burn through his dark umber eyes. </p><p>“I wonder if we have to attend,” Vinny worries. “I mean, I have no problem attending, It’s just - ah - I don’t know how we should prepare for it if we do. Or if we’re even invited.” </p><p>“Do you think she would want us to attend?” Mole inquiries in a more subdued manner than usual. “If so, I will bathe for the occasion.” </p><p>“That would be mighty kind of you, Mole,” Sweet observes with sincerity.</p><p>“I wish I had something appropriate to wear,” Audrey indicates at her clothes. “Attending a funeral wasn’t something I planned for. Hey, Milo, maybe you could ask one of them or Kida if I could borrow something more fitting. Milo?”</p><p>Audrey looks around the room as does the rest of the crew. </p><p>He’s gone.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>-◬-</b>
  </p>
</div>Concentrated dew from a leaf overhanging a small spring drips down. Ripples reverberate dissipating into nothingness. Milo stares at his reflection. He looks exhausted. Slight stubble grows from his face complimenting the bags under his eyes. He tries to focus, collect himself. He closes his eyes and takes in the sounds of birds and waterfalls crashing in the distance. Their faint hums take him back to a place, a moment in his youth where all felt right with the world.<p>“Milo.”</p><p>Another drop of water plunges into the spring. He opens his eyes and stares at his reflection. As the water calms he notices Kida is standing behind him. He doesn’t say a word as she approaches to sit. They stare at the spring together although he feels like they're miles apart. </p><p>“Your friends were wondering where you had vanished to. They do not know our land as I do, so I proposed to find you. An easy task considering.” She smiles faintly. “Did you tell them what I told the others?”</p><p>“Yea,” Milo struggles to confirm. </p><p>“But you did not tell them all of what I had orated, did you,” Kida observes.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>A few birds soar overhead making a brief commotion along their journey. </p><p>“Few outsiders have observed our culture or ceremonies. Let alone one pertaining to death, given out longevity. Your friends, they do not speak my language. And I cannot proceed with the ceremony that is not in Atlantean. If you do not wish to orate for them, I shall respect that.”</p><p>“You don’t want me to do that, Kida.” </p><p>“To translate? And why not? You are an exceptional linguist.” </p><p>“But that’s all I am. A linguist. I’m not -” He cuts himself short. </p><p>“You’re not what, Milo?”</p><p>“I’m not - cut out for that. Or this. For any of this..."</p><p>“What is ‘this’?”</p><p>“Your culture - taking part in it? I’m not fit.”</p><p>“I do not understand. You and your friends have acclimated well from what I have witnessed.” </p><p>“They have,” Milo asserts. “I haven’t...” </p><p>Kida stares at the water before them. “When I showed you what was under these waters before us. When you translated what was written on that slab. You knew things that not even I knew of my people.”</p><p>“Translating a book or - or a slab is different than actually doing what the book or slab says. ” </p><p>“Translating; that is doing, Milo. If it were not for you -” </p><p>“If it weren’t me I wouldn’t have led Rourke here. Rourke wouldn’t have killed your father. Almost killed you! And left your people to - die in a crypt. I almost caused the genocide of an entire race and for some reason, you don’t seem to care that I did.”</p><p>“Because you did not! Why that is hard for you to comprehend I shall never know.”</p><p>Milo rants on, unaware of what she’s said. “And now you want me to translate a sacred ceremony I hardly know? I'm not qualified for that. I haven't -  lived what you or - or your people have lived through. I can't face them… I'll be presiding over their king who died because of me!” His voice cracks.</p><p>Kida observes him in astonishment. Milo wipes his face as hot tears roll down his face and arm. </p><p>“I try to help people, Kida. But - I don’t. I just cause them more pain. And you know -” he reflects. “Maybe that’s why I’m an outcast, you know? I caused nothing but trouble at the Smithsonian, for the crew on the way here, your people, my parents, my grandfather -”</p><p>“You did not…” Kida objects cutting him off. </p><p>“Kida," Milo sighs in defeat. "You barely know me.” </p><p>“Don’t subject yourself to hubris, Milo. I do. You told me yourself about your profession, your childhood. How your grandfather loved you. How your parents -”</p><p>“Died because I got them sick? How my grandfather became an even bigger laughing stock because of my obsession with this place? How he died a broken man and had a funeral only I attended? Yea; I've been knocking it out of the park..."</p><p>“If you do not believe yourself competent then why do you remain?” Kida demands. </p><p>“Because you’re the first person who made me feel like I belonged somewhere. Like I wasn't a burden. You're not like my grandfather or Whitmore. Thaddeus loved me dearly, but I would have been an orphan had he not taken me in. Whitmore? He was honoring the bet between my grandfather and himself. You didn't even know me yet you healed me when I was injured. You invited me to eat with you and your people. You were forthright and blunt about what you wanted and needed; never deceived or led me along. You made me feel like for the first time I could do something right. Leave a positive impact on someone; help them."</p><p>“Milo, I should not have to remind you of the good you have done during your time with me. But if I must in order for it to seep through that large forehead of yours, I shall. It astounds me that a man who deciphers words cannot surmise the sincerity behind mine.” Kida sighs. “You believe you are the only one who feels as though they are an outcast, but you are not...” </p><p>Milo turns to face her. She looks tortured. </p><p>“What do you mean?” He inquires with hesitation.</p><p>“I am Atlantean but I do not feel as though I am. As you were informed, I was but a toddler when my mother was taken from me by the Heart of Atlantis. When my father was blinded as he shielded my eyes from the crystal's power. When most of our city, its people, and our history perished."</p><p>"The others - the ones who were older, they knew what it meant to be Atlantean before our submersion. As I grew older, as I learned of what little of our old ways were left I grew inquisitive. Prying for deeper knowledge from my teachers. Of these, vague memories from my youth of manuscripts and what was written on stone. Once my father became aware of my inquiries to my teachers he denied my further education. And so the last of us who could read had died before I was of age to comprehend the manuscripts." </p><p>Kida purses her lips. "That did not stop me. I persisted to acquire as much as I could to my father’s dismay. One evening I happened across a piece of parchment with words upon in his chamber while he slept. I went about the villages, searching for anyone who might be able to decipher it. I knew the last of us who could read were deceased, but I still had hope."</p><p>"Did you ever find out what it said?" Milo asks meekly. </p><p>Kida frowns. "No. I had kept it hidden from him, away in a small box for safekeeping. One day I went to inspect it, and it was gone..." </p><p>Milo gulps as she looks off into the distance. "I began to sneak out at night. Searching every derelict dwelling for any written material I might find," she continues. "I wanted to preserve them in anticipation that someday, someone would be able to read our texts." </p><p>"I guess, there weren't any?" </p><p>"No," she laments. "Since no one could read there was no reason to retain them. The few that survived were dismantled for kindling and materials. Especially during our earlier period when we were surviving off what little we had. That was when I came across the abandoned study that an elder informed me of. She told me of what resided behind the wall. But the lock was not as it was now, rusted. And I could not ask for assistance as my father would become enraged. Possibly destroy the temple if he could. I had tried to break it loose, but could not. I tied so many methods to no avail. So again," she mutters with frustration, "I waited. I waited until those manuscripts rotted into nothing...</p><p>My father's apprehension towards texts. To my yearning to read. It spawned deep-rooted animosity between us. In my youth and even now, I had believed that he harbored spite for me. That in turn made me believe that somehow, I was the cause of my mother's death. I had not known that the Heart of Atlantis beckons one of royal blood. All I had known is that there was a bright light in the sky and that she was with me when she was taken. All I had wanted to do was learn to read. To gain the knowledge to bring her back." She wipes her eyes. "Now I know his frustration was not hatred. But fear and sadness. A fear to lose me like he and I had lost my mother. A sadness that I had lost my mother. He did not want me to repeat his mistakes. To put our people in further danger.</p><p>But in doing so he only prolonged our demise. And with each year a piece of not only me was lost, but my people as well. The tides of time had beaten us from a mighty mountain into a mere pebble. With no one left to read or write time itself became incalculable. All that we have known since is that each day the tomb within which we reside transforms from day to night. And with no sense of time, our practice of rituals faded away."</p><p>Kida's brow furrows as she cocks her head to the side. "But even still - the others. They retain some connection with what it means to be Atlantean. To their families. Their personal histories, what little they could recollect. My father and I did not talk of my mother nor would he detail what had occurred. So now I am connected to nothing. Not my mother, my father, my people, or culture. I am trapped between two worlds with no way to navigate between them. To help not only myself but others." She stares deep into the pool of water as another ripple fades away. “We share the same reflection, you and I.”</p><p>“I - didn’t know; any of that. I’m sorry.” Milo buries his face into the palms of his hands. Quiet sobs flutter from his quivering lips. “I’m very sorry, Kida...”</p><p>“Do not apologize for what you did not know, Milo," she comforts.</p><p>"No. I've been acting stupid this entire time." He wipes his nose and sides of his cheeks. "I should have, asked more. Talked to you more about this instead of running away."  </p><p>"I don't recall you running away.”</p><p>Milo purses his lips and gestures limply at the spring before him. "This. This is me running away. I can't help you or you people if I just - shut down because I'm afraid of messing up again. Afraid of -" He glances at the spring in a moment of reflection.</p><p>"You and I have a lot to learn about each other still. I see that now. Even though you told me, even though I saw it with my own eyes, I did not consider how the death of loved ones would affect you. Ironic considering my own experiences. But we carry our burdens differently. If you do not want to translate at my father’s ceremony, I understand." She opens her mouth to continue but hesitates. </p><p>"What?"</p><p>"It's nothing." </p><p>"I know it's not fair for me to ask you since I've - not been so open myself. But I would - like to get better at that. You know. Understanding you. Even if I might mess up along the way."</p><p>Kida adjusts herself. "You are a bridge, as one would say. When you informed me of the loss of your parents in your youth. Of the love your grandfather poured on you. Those emotions; I felt a connection. Between you and me." </p><p>Her eyes meet his. He exhales sharply and his heart begins to sprint again. He stiffens. Unsure if this is a lead into - something. But she continues.</p><p>"We verbally shared a pain that I had not shared with anyone. Not even my father." Her finger caresses her crystal. "You may not be Atlantean, but you understand me more than any Atlantean has. I am sure that part of that is because you are a linguist. Speaking from a literal sense. But - it's not just that." She beams with a soft radiance in her smirk. "It is a ‘liking’ too, as Cookie would phrase it.”  </p><p>Milo's gaze meets hers and they hold upon one another. That warm feeling, it's back again, but this time it's not excitement. It's something else... </p><p>“Did I ever tell you why I wanted to become a linguist?” He smiles.  </p><p>“No,” Kida whispers inquisitively. </p><p>"I don’t have vivid memories of my parents. I think - I blocked them out after they died. But I remember when I was very young, around three, my mother would read me a chapter from Treasure Island every night before bed. I don’t think I really understood what the story was about, because - you know, I was three. But I got the basics. It was a story about a kid, Jim Hawkins, who yearned for adventure. To find Captain Flint's buried treasure. Riches and gold," he laughs. </p><p>"After they passed, I cried and cried every night," he sighs somberly. "My poor grandfather, Thaddeus, didn't know what to do. I mean, he did what he could, what any good parent could, but he didn't understand that I was - a bit different, than most kids. Even today, I have a routine with most things and I don't like to break that routine. So when he would put me to bed, I would cry because at first, he would read me simpler tales, but I wanted Treasure Planet. I wanted to finish that story, even though my mother read it to me over and over again. At the time I had trouble verbalizing things even though I was four, which is why I cried. But eventually, he picked up on that ." </p><p>"You, a stranger to talking? That is new to me," Kida jabs. </p><p>"Yea," Milo smiles. "Believe it or not I was a quiet kid. Had a hard time interacting with others, even my age. Especially my age. Eye contact was hard for me too. Now if you talked about something that I really liked? I would babble on for hours. Babble babble babble," he mimics with his hand flapping about comically. Kida chuckles.</p><p>"Now that,” she points out, “that is not hard to imagine."</p><p>Milo shrugs with a shy grin. </p><p>“So this book...”</p><p>“Oh,” Milo continues. “Yea so he started to read it to me before bed and that would knock me right out. But before I would go to sleep, I would often ask, 'when are they coming home'. And each time he would have to remind me that they weren't..." He picks up a pebble. "I got a bit older and started to ask more questions about them. By that point, I knew that they weren't coming back, but I still - wanted to remember. Remember something." He stares pensively. "He was pretty reluctant, my grandfather, but he didn't hold back. He would tell me. With a smile and a tear in his eye. He would tell me..." </p><p>"Around age eight I was in his study one day and found a box of my mother's letters. Letters she would write to my father when he was away. Older letters from when they were courting. By this time I could read and I wanted to read them, but many of the words were too complex for me to understand. Grandfather offered to read them to me, but the one time he did his voice began to shake... He only ever read one of her letters to me. He seemed fine at first, but later that night I heard him sobbing in his study." Milo exhales sharply. "I vowed to not do that to him again..." </p><p>He clasps the rock. "So I came up with a plan. I was practicing my writing and wanted to learn new words, bigger words. It was then he told me of his thesaurus collection. Showed me how they worked. Maybe he knew what I was doing and if he did he put on a good face. When he was away or it was late in the night I would sit in my room. Books upon books scattered on the table, translating my mother's letters. Making sure he didn't know I had them as I wasn't supposed to touch them without his supervision. And each night I would put them back."</p><p>Then one night I got a little too cocky or tired if you want to be honest. I fell asleep at my writing table with one of her letters and his thesauruses out. Come morning I magically found myself in my bed and the letter - it was still there. I panicked of course because what if he happened to walk into my room to make me prepare for the day. He didn't, thankfully enough; thought I was scot-free. But when I was walking to the dining hall for breakfast he called me into his study.”  </p><p>Milo rubs the back of his neck. "Boy, I thought I was in trouble. But instead of reprimanding me - he apologized," he utters with a tinge of surprise. "Apologized for not reading more of her letters to me. He sat me on his knee and said what I did was admirable. He acknowledged how I was careful with her possessions. How I had learned so much about language and her from reading them. And I'll never forget what he said after that." He gazes to the furthest edge of the spring. "'Your mother and father aren't dead, Milo. They live on.’”</p><p>"Within... a 'heart', like ours?" Kida questions with wonder.</p><p>"No," Milo chuffs. "Where I'm from, people - they’re just - dead. In the ground. Some are cremated, but for the most part, they’re buried in a graveyard. A final resting place for the deceased."</p><p>"Then," Kida asks bewildered, "how do they live on?" </p><p>"Through language,” he smiles softly. “Books, letters, obituaries, engravings, tombstones. Their ideas, emotions, lives, histories - immortalized from one generation to the next. That’s how they live on.” Milo tosses the stone. It skips across the water spawning ripple upon ripple. “That’s what my grandfather explained to me about her letters. Reading them. Preserving them. In fact, it’s why he enjoyed his work as an archaeologist, according to him. A lot of the artifacts he found were from dead cultures and languages. I thought it was so neat that he could revive them through his work. A Lazarus effect. So I started focusing my energy on more and more books about languages." Milo chuckles, "he told me, 'you will become the most astute linguist the world has ever seen!' I don't know about all that," he humbly shrugs. "But that ability to translate what was forgotten? It was a way of helping those people and their cultures live on again.”</p><p>“If it is any consolation, you are the most astute linguist our world has ever known,” Kida affirms.</p><p>“Thanks,” he grins, wiping his eyes. “Heh, I realized this entire time I never told you my parents’ names.” </p><p>“What were they?” Kida whispers, shifting closer to Milo. </p><p>“Lucille and Augustus.”</p><p>“Those are beautiful names… Thank you, for telling me more about your parents.”</p><p>Kida places her hand on Milo’s shoulder and they sit in silence watching the ripples fade away. </p><p>“S-speaking of beautiful, umm - about, last night…” He wrings his hands. </p><p>“Oh, yes,” Kida removes her hand. “I wanted to apologize for that.”</p><p>“For uh - what?” Milo stammers. </p><p>“For invading your personal space. You see, I can be too enthusiastic sometimes. Intrusive. What I did was uncouth and I do not intend to do it again. I should have respected your boundaries.” </p><p>“No I don't mind you touching me - I mean - aaah,” he rubs the nape of his neck. “Thanks, but I - wanted to apologize too. For leaving you - like that. It wasn’t fair.” </p><p>“Yes, but I proposed a question and interacted with you in such a way that made you uncomfortable.” </p><p>“Well yea, b-but that’s because - because -” He struggles to swallow. To speak. It feels as though a vice is pressing hard against his throat. As though he’ll collapse at any moment. “Because... I do l-like you,” his voice cracks. </p><p>"Oh," Kida responds in surprise. She smiles in a chaste like manner, as though she and he were both children. “Judging from your expression I would presume that to ‘like me’ means something different in this context. But I could be wrong?” </p><p>“This might not be an appropriate time because we just finished talking about our dead parents, but -” Milo stalls before taking the plunge. “When I say that I like you I mean that I - enjoy your company. I mean - you know, I enjoy others’ company too but - when I’m with you it - I - feel -" He lingers, trying to find the right words. But he submits to his basal emotions. "I become whole," he nods. "The things we talk about. The things you show me. They just - brighten my day. I haven’t had that kind of feeling with someone since my grandfather passed.”</p><p>“That levity... Are you sure it’s not because I am a 'pretty girl'?” Kida asks playfully yet with a drop of apprehension.</p><p>“Oh no! No no no,” Milo blushes, placing his clasped hands between his legs. “You are p-pretty. There’s no d-denying that. I’ve been - ahem - adjacent to other women before. Out and about. But I don’t - get that same - emotional - feeling as I d-do with you. And if I'm being honest, you're the first person who's - made me feel this w-way.” </p><p>I see,” Kida whispers moving in even closer. “In this context, I think it would be fair to admit that - I ‘like’ you too, Milo. Or as one might say from your culture, when I am around you? Flies of butter reside not in my stomach but metaphorically it feels as though they are there.”  </p><p>“R-really?”</p><p>“But of course. Cookie and you told me they are not parasites.” </p><p>“No I mean - you, feel the same way, a-about...” He swallows. “Me?”</p><p>“Oh," she mumbles sheepishly. "Yes. Yes, I do.”</p><p>Milo can scarcely make it out from her darker complexion, but she’s - blushing. He licks his lips free of beads of sweat surely caused by the humidity from their altitude.  </p><p>“Although because I am female I do not indicate such feelings as unmistakably as a male, such as yourself, would through an erection.” </p><p>“Oh god…” Milo recoils. His head receding between his legs as his arms bind themselves around him like a cocoon. </p><p>“Don’t be ashamed, Milo!” Kida rubs his back in comfort. “You see, at first I did not know what had caused you to run off until I spoke with Sweet for help. Told him in detail what had occurred. I would have asked Cookie, but that man, I do not understand him…”</p><p>Milo curls in even tighter. </p><p>“Sweet informed me your erection was a natural and involuntary reaction. Induced from my being so close to you with my body touching yours. Specifically, my breasts, which I had not taken into consideration." </p><p>"Ooohkay..." Milo mumbles in a shriveled tenor. </p><p>"From there Mrs. Packard was kind enough to interject and inform me of more specifics in private,” Kida explains with excitement. “You see, I only knew the rudimentary aspects of copulation. I was educated on the matter upon my first menses and I have witnessed it in animals prior. But all the finer details, courtship and - titillation; those were foreign to me. You are very very fortunate to have such a wise matriarch."</p><p>Milo doesn’t say anything. He remains stationary like a fawn in the bush.</p><p>“Oh, I’ve done it again; I’ve made you uncomfortable,” she acknowledges ashamed of herself. “I apologize...” </p><p>“Nooooo no, you’re - uh - fine, Kida,” he laughs nervously, straining to unfurl himself. “It’s just - ah, we’re I’m f-from we’re usually not this, explicit about - these kinds of topics.” </p><p>“Odd… Based on my interactions with your people I suspected it was normalcy. Especially with Mole,” she scowls.</p><p>“I'd wager my crew's not normal. Especially Mole,” he chuckles. “Definitely not Mole…”</p><p>“I see. I guess it would be timely for me to clarify that while such conversations are not daily for my people, they are also not taboo. In fact, we have had several fertility ceremonies for centuries. But their practice had fallen out of favor due to our inability to detect the seasons and limited resources. Do your people have fertility traditions?”</p><p>“Uhh,” Milo fumbles. “Not really. But we have something I guess - that ties into that?”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yea, we call it ‘Valentine's Day'.” </p><p>“Valentine's Day,” Kida parrots. “What is that?”</p><p>“It’s mostly a European and American holiday where people confess their - love - for someone." He twiddles his fingers. "They'll do things like - giving their loved one flowers, chocolates, and cards.” </p><p>“Cards?”</p><p>“Umm - yea, they’re a folded piece of paper where the outside has an illustration. Typically of something cute. Like bunnies holding flowers, cupid; things like that. The inside will often be blank and you write your message in.”</p><p>“And these cards, what purpose do they serve?”</p><p>“Well,” he wipes the side of his face. “They’re a written way of confessing that you like someone.” </p><p>“Oh! So the moment before, if I were to practice your tradition, we would have exchanged cards? And - say - flowers and… ‘chocolates’?” </p><p>“Y-yea,” he laughs. “I guess, we would have.” </p><p>“When do your people observe this ceremony?”</p><p>“Where I’m from, which is America, it's observed on February the 14th. Some religious denominations observe it in the summer months though.” </p><p>“Fascinating…” Kida gasps. “Milo, what is the season?”</p><p>“The season?”</p><p>“Yes, the current - 'month' as you would call it.”</p><p>“Oh, umm, where I’m from it’s April. I know seasons are hard to track down here, but do your people no longer keep track of months?” </p><p>“And is that before or after February?” Kida prods more as though it’s urgent, overlooking Milo’s question. </p><p>“After,” Milo chuckles. </p><p>“Shame…” She murmurs. “I would like to observe it.” </p><p>“Well,” Milo adjusts himself, planting his arms on the ground and leaning back. “If we start keeping track of the months and days now, we can prepare for Valentine's. So next time it’s February the 14th I’ll let you know and we can uh - practice it.” </p><p>“Together?” Kida implores with yearning.</p><p>“Yea,” Milo smiles broadly. “Together.” </p><p>A drop of water falls into the spring as they look off into the distant sky.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Milo's conversation to Kida about why he became a linguist was something I conceived on my own, but it was super nice to get some motivation from rewatching 1989's Pet Semetary recently. The speeches Louis and Judd give Ellie concerning death always hit home with me as a kid ( as do all the other lines and acting in that movie ). </p><p>Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A short story with a few long chapters that will hopefully be part of a larger story! If not, however, what will be done will be self-contained to where it can be standalone. </p><p>Shoutout to RovingOtter for helping me proofread this! Be sure to check out their work.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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